


Full Circle

by Rosa52



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-08-16 16:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 26,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8109763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosa52/pseuds/Rosa52
Summary: I'm really sorry for the delay in updating - school has been crazy, and I'm heading into finals week now, so it's going to be a little bit (hopefully not another month, though) between updates again. I haven't forgotten the story - it's just harder to find the time to write it the way I want to. Thanks for sticking with me.





	1. Chapter 1

It seemed impossible, when he thought back on it, that as the Bartlet Administration’s Communications Director, he hadn’t been able to come up with a better retort than, “Am not!” Granted, Will reasoned, staring into his Scotch, the entire job of being Communications Director was basically just screaming “Am not!” at regular intervals. But he was also a speechwriter, for Christ’s sake. He’d made a career out of figuring out how to say what had to be said, but apparently, when it really mattered, his words deserted him. He’d just stood there, wordless, struck dumb by the raw exhilaration of Kate admitting that she wanted to see where their relationship was going and – he’d admit it – the allure of his own Congressional campaign. And then Kate had given him one of those looks she got when she was seeing the whole picture on a really _big_ plan, and she told him he was moving to Oregon. More specifically, he was moving to Oregon and she wasn’t. Kate had decided, and he hadn’t said a damn word.

Alone in her office, Kate replayed the conversation in her head. _He had to do it_ , she thought, nails biting into her palms. Not just because he’d made a great Congressman – although he _would_. A small smile crossed her face, but didn’t stay. He was fucking _made_ for the job. He had to do it _now_ – _this_ race, _this_ election – because if he passed it up for her, lingering in DC in a job he wouldn’t have chosen otherwise, it would always hang over them. Kate Harper could handle a hell of a lot, but she didn’t think she could handle waiting around, watching another relationship turn poisonous and painful. Especially not this one. Will was kind and brave; he was thoughtful and unexpectedly (but once you noticed it, blindingly) sexy. Even before they’d started dating, he had somehow understood everything she was while still seeing the best in her. Now, facing down a life without him, Kate had to admit that, most of all, she was going to miss that best, truest self – that she was more than a little afraid she would discover that, without Will Bailey, that Kate Harper didn’t exist. _Stop it_ , she ordered herself harshly, as her chest tightened. _Just fucking stop._

She took a deep breath and tried to picture the future. Not her future, not yet. Oregon. _Oregon would suit him_ , she decided, smiling sadly. California had never quite fit, but Oregon – mists and forests and bleakly beautiful beaches – could work for Will Bailey. And Congress would suit him, she acknowledged, even as she forced herself to blink back visions of herself fixing a flag pin to his lapel, or straightening his tie before his first floor speech, or taking the tie off, and the suit off, and… _Just fucking stop it, Harper,_ hissed her brain, as images of the life she’d just refused pooled behind her eyes like tears. _You were never the tie-straightening kind_ , she reminded herself, straightening her spine against her own maudlin fantasies. _Be realistic._ That didn’t help, though, she realized as a choked sob wracked her body. In fact, the reality of what she’d passed up was worse. It was her, laughingly battling Will over his policy positions; Will offering her first date entrée-switching privileges long after their hundredth consecutive date; Will rehearsing his stump speeches until she could quote them back to him; her, tearing Will’s suit off (in a new office, this time) - and she was back where she’d started.

 _It wasn’t a sure thing, though_ , she reminded herself. _No relationship ever was_. And actually, as much as she’d treated this version of the future as a definite, none of it was a sure thing. There was a campaign to get through. The thought of the months ahead had a frown settling between her brows. _He was a campaign operator_ , part of her brain argued, slick and committed enough to _literally_ get a corpse elected. He was in his element on the campaign trail. Gnawing on her lower lip, Kate acknowledged the obvious counterpoint: in his past campaigns, he’d been running other candidates. He’d never had to sell himself to the public that way – his ideas, his values, his experience. Would he be good at it? Could Will Bailey, man of the people, and Will Bailey, creature of the campaign, co-exist? And what would happen to just-plain Will Bailey – the man who had asked her out for the end of the world? The man who’d just laughed when she came out as a Republican; the only man whose arms she could sleep in without feeling trapped? Protective anxiety rippled through her at the thought of that Will, _her_ Will being suppressed and sublimated by the grind of the campaign, stifled beneath the glossy veneer of the political gladiator. _If she were with him_ , she thought frantically, _she could shoulder some of that burden. She could show people who he was – be a character witness. She could show **Oregon** what there was to love about him. What **she** loved about him. _ That jolted her back to reality. _Loved_ about him _? **Jesus fucking Christ**. _ Sternly, Kate pulled her emotions back, making a conscious effort to relax her muscles. He was going to run, she was sure of it. And she wasn’t going to be there. Her heart clutched a little at the finality of it. That didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed to _care_ , though, she rationalized. She could keep an eye on things – stay apprised of how it was going. It wasn’t like she hadn’t cared about politics before, although maybe house races in Oregon hadn’t really been on her radar. He’d never know – she’d keep the break clean – but she wouldn’t have to face the hardscrabble panic of being completely and totally without him.  


	2. Chapter 2

**FIVE WEEKS LATER**

You would think that after two failed marriages, she would have the goodbye fuck down to a science, but the truth of the matter was, neither of those goodbyes had torn her apart like this one. _And,_ she noted wryly, _there hadn’t **been** a goodbye fuck. _There’d been goodbye paperwork, but no desire to run her hands over either freshly-ex husband’s body one more time. She was flying blind here, and she fucking hated that. She figured she should pull out all the stops – if this was it, there was no need to hold anything in reserve. She went with black satin lingerie because she knew the contrast with her coloring got to him; it wasn’t until she was fastening the bra that she realized it could be construed as more dirge-like than seductive. _Well, fuck it,_ she muttered, adjusting the cups. _Just fucking fuck it._ The outfit she put over the lingerie was nothing special – they’d decided on dinner at their favorite spot, a casual Thai place (cleverly named Thai Place) right by the GW campus. She’d almost canceled dinner more times than she could count; the prospect of spending an hour with him, trying not to focus on everything she was losing, sounded like torture. There just didn’t seem to be any way around it, though. She needed to see him as much as she needed not to, and he seemed to want to see her. Besides, she had this whole goodbye fuck plan, and while showing up at his apartment unannounced in killer lingerie had been a fun, sexy possibility just a few weeks ago, she didn’t see it going over well in the present context. 

Will was early, pacing outside the door in the biting February chill, cursing himself for arranging this. He’d been ready to insist that they meet – to go to the mat for the chance to spend a few hours alone with her just one more time. He’d been so keyed up for a battle that when she’d immediately agreed, he’d almost started arguing with her. As soon as they’d set a date and hung up, he’d sat on his couch and had a full-on panic attack. Since the day the Santos administration moved in, he’d been battling the urge to call her. “Hey,” he’d rehearsed in a forced-casual tone, staring into his bathroom mirror, “Want to come keep me company while I pack? I know it sounds boring, but we can put on a movie or something, and…” And the thing was, she would have said yes. He already knew it. She would have said yes, and he would have packed his boxes while she sat on his couch with that sphinx-like stare, an inscrutable half-smile on her face, and he would have begged. He would have begged because literally the only person who thought he should be running for Congress was Kate; because when the sky was falling, he’d just wanted to have dinner with her; because she made him think, she made him laugh, she made him _better_ ; because waking up next to her felt like winning the lottery every damn day – and not just because of the morning sex; because maybe their kids would all look like her; because he knew that, for whatever reason, he made her happy, and he liked to see her happy. The laughable thing was, he didn’t even know what he would have begged _for –_ for her to come to Oregon? For her to stop insisting that he _go_ to Oregon? He thought Oregon would suit her – the open space, the mountains, the ocean. Nature made him twitchy, but Kate had never met a frontier she couldn’t master. If she wanted DC, though, he could _do_ DC. Hell, it’s what he’d _been doing._ Sure, it wasn’t New York or Paris, but he _liked_ DC. He’d built a life here. He had _Kate_ here. Or at least, he used to. Snapping out of his own head, he noted that the customers in the window of the restaurant were watching him with what looked like sympathy. One wore a hat that he thought _might_ be an Oregon University hat. Kate would have known. _Vote Bailey_ , he thought bitterly, checking his watch. Footsteps approached behind him, and he fixed what he hoped was an amiable smile on his face as he turned to greet her. Right on time, he noted. “Will,” she said simply, her smile heartbreaking. “Hey!” he responded too brightly, reaching to hug her. He thought better of it halfway through the motion, but it was too late to pull back. Their embrace felt somehow dead. Swallowing hard, Will pulled away to open the door for her.


	3. Chapter 3

Kate hadn’t expected a hug. From the panic in his eyes, he hadn’t expected to give her one, either – he’d just reached for her instinctively. She hadn’t been ready, so she’d frozen, arms at her sides – she somehow knew how it would feel if she hugged him back, if she allowed herself to hold onto him: like embracing a live wire, the distillation of everything she wasn’t allowing herself to want, too painful to face without preparation. She’d hurt him, she knew that, and for a moment, the horrifying possibility that her plan for the rest of the night – black satin and absolution – would be as painful for him as his stillborn hug had been for her. Biting her lip, she banished the thought – she wouldn’t ambush him; he would have the opportunity to say no. He wouldn’t say no, but he could. She squared her shoulders as she walked to the table.

The rest of the dinner was heartrendingly normal. He ordered first, and when he ordered her favorite, she almost wept; she ordered what she knew was his first choice, finishing the dance. They talked about everything and nothing – her job search, their friends, the town he was moving to. “Florence,” he’d said, and she’d felt a wash of satisfaction. She would have picked Florence, too. _For him_ , she insisted internally. Her taste had nothing to do with it. “You have to buy a house, right?” she asked, maintaining a façade of idle curiosity. She’d been imagining where he would move for close to a month now, compulsively browsing real estate in his district-to-be. Will sucked in a breath, hoping she didn’t notice that he’d been trying to skirt the subject. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “My first real house.” She pinned him with the look he usually loved – the you’re-not-getting-away-with-that smirk that she’d perfected. “ _Well_? Have you started looking?” Will laughed softly. They both knew that he had –  organized, moderately neurotic Will Bailey wasn’t the type to move across the continent without a home base. Not to mention, if he didn’t buy a house within the next few months, he couldn’t run. “I’ve got one picked out, actually,” he began quietly, not sure how much to tell her. His mind was full of the things he couldn’t say. The house – he’d considered just about every house he could find in the counties in the Oregon 4th. The search had gotten easier once he’d picked a town. He’d settled on Florence because it seemed like a sweet town where he could get to know people, and because he wanted to be close to the ocean. He’d thought about just getting a small, inexpensive house anywhere in the district – not a home so much as an efficiency, but just the thought made him feel like he was validating the carpetbagger accusation that his opponent would inevitably lob at him. He wanted a home. And because he hadn’t yet managed to separate his vision of what home would be from his visions of a future with Kate, he’d chosen a house he could see her in. In fact, it was so blatantly _her_ house that he could have sworn he saw her profile in the window when he’d looked at the photos his realtor had sent him. Built before the end of the first world war, the house had solid, graceful lines. It was shingled, weathered to perfection by the ocean winds from its place right on the beach. It wasn’t the most strategic place to run a campaign, maybe, but it felt like the kind of place where he could build a life. Realizing that he’d been silent a moment too long, Will continued. “It’s on the beach. Kind of an old house – 1916, I think? Shingled, four bedrooms. More than I need, I guess, but...” He trailed off, shrugging sheepishly. Kate had to fight to keep the shock off her face. He’d chosen _her_ house. Not that she’d lived there, or owned it, or anything like that – just that she’d loved it. She’d looked at the pictures of it again and again, imagining Will there, cooking dinner, or working in a study that overlooked the ocean. Imagining – when it came to the house, she’d be honest – herself there, walking on the beach with Will, enjoying coffee on the house’s generous porch. He hadn’t just picked a house as a means to an end; he'd picked a place to put down roots. Before she knew what she was doing, she’d reached across the table and taken his hand. The shock of his touch flowed through her, but the pain she’d been afraid of didn’t follow. “It sounds incredible, Will. I’m so happy for you.” He squeezed her hand, looking adorably befuddled. “I… I have to go see it before we close. Check for dry rot, that sort of thing.” Kate laughed gently. “Do you know anything about dry rot?” she couldn’t help but ask. Really, it wouldn’t be all that surprising if he did – he was surprisingly handy. He grinned and shook his head. “I mean, I’ve been learning – I have a book about home ownership for the plane –“ Kate snorted and he shot her an arch look “ – but I don’t really know anything about home inspections. Do you?” Kate smiled wryly. “Yeah,” she said, “I know a little bit.” Will swallowed before his reflexive “Do you want to come with me?” could escape his lips. “So if I send you pictures…?” he quipped. Kate bit back a “ _please do._ ” “You’re getting a real home inspector, right?” Will rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he responded. “I just trust you more.”

The bill came, and something like loss crossed Will’s face. Looking down at their joined hands, Kate took a deep breath. She was still trying to figure out how to broach the subject, when Will spoke. “Would you like to come to my place for a drink?” he asked tentatively. “I mean, it’s mostly boxes, but I do have beer.” Relieved, Kate smiled widely. “Definitely,” she answered confidently. They bickered over the check, but she won. “As a housewarming present,” she’d insisted, forcing herself to relinquish the dream of decorating her house – _his house_ – as a housewarming gift instead. Pushing in his chair, Will offered her a half smile. “Since you won’t come make sure I don’t have dry rot, I guess it’ll do.” 

The walk back to his apartment felt so normal it ached. Without thinking, without remembering the terrible hug, he slid his arm around her shoulder the way he always did, and she relaxed into his side, one arm sliding around his waist. It struck him, as it always did when they walked home together, that they were well-matched. Their bodies, their personalities – they fit together. And on this walk, for the first time, he really understood that when she left his apartment tonight – and she would – he was going to shatter. They were too well-connected to separate without damage. The instinctive, clutching fear that accompanied that realization almost made him pull away, but the comfort of holding her in the moment was stronger. _Besides_ , he reminded himself, struggling to keep his breathing steady, _there was no guarantee that, if they pulled apart now, acted like strangers for the rest of the night, it would hurt any less in the morning._ Kate looked up at him, eyes alert; either his breathing wasn’t as steady as he’d hoped, or his emotions were plain on his face. “What are you thinking?” she asked quietly, her frozen breath hanging in the night air. “Just…” There was nothing for it but honesty, he decided. “Just that it feels so good – so _right_ – to be with you, y’know? And that it’s really, _really_ going to hurt when we… aren’t.” _Eloquent_ , he heard Toby’s voice sneer in his head. ‘ _It feels so right.’ Knock her off her feet with the third-string Hallmark language._ Kate was biting her lip like she was going to say something, and his Toby-toned self-loathing quieted as he focused on her. “I know,” she began. “I was thinking… all week, really, about whether it would be better for us not to meet up at all. I mean, I really wasn’t sure. After tonight, though… I think it would have hurt worse to let go before we had to, you know?” He nodded silently as they walked into the building. He took his arm from around her shoulders as he punched in the elevator code, but as soon as he finished entering it, she took his hand. He could feel her eyes on him as they stepped into the elevator.


	4. Chapter 4

She had meant to tack “so I think we should have sex tonight” onto her last sentence – to get it out there for consideration. When push came to shove, though, she choked. There was something terrifying about saying it out loud, she’d realized. Would it feel scheduled, like a colonoscopy? Would it feel cheap? Would he read it as a kind of exorcism of their relationship? Would it wind up being more farewell than sex – stilted and overlong, with all the romance of an idling car? Something – her instincts or her cowardice, she wasn’t sure which – was telling her to play it cool and just let things unfold; to go for a kiss and see where it led. She was still wrestling with her black satin-clad conscience when they walked through Will’s front door.

The entire apartment was covered in boxes. Blushing, Will muttered an apology. “I think I must have gotten de-sensitized to how bad it was over the past couple weeks,” he sighed, embarrassment still clear on his face. “I was actually almost proud of myself when I left, because everything was all boxed up and finalized.” “Did you pack all of this by yourself?” Kate asked, mildly incredulous. “I mean, my stuff, my problem, right?” he shrugged. “I would have helped you,” she offered quietly. “One thing about my job before the White House gig – I moved a lot. I got good at it, and you know how it is when you’re really good at something – it gets fun for you.” Will half-laughed. “I actually almost called you about a dozen times in the process, just for company.” That felt like a gut punch; she fought to keep her breathing steady and her face neutral. “I would have come,” she said softly, forcing herself to keep her eyes on his. Shyly, he looked away. “I know,” came his halting reply. “I just didn’t want you to think I was…” “What? Lazy?” “ _No_ – well, _yes_ , but I don’t think that’s something I even knew I should be concerned about –“ “You _shouldn’t_ be, that’s what I’m saying! Desperate?” “Yeah – well, desperate how?” “Like… a booty call,” Kate said patiently. “ _Oh._ No, I –“ _Be honest_ , Kate reminded herself. “Because I would have come, Will. Just, for the record.” “I – you would have?” He looked stunned, she noted with amusement. “Yeah. I would have. I’ve missed you, Will. Everything about you, everything about us.” “ _And you still won’t come to Oregon?_ ” flew up his throat, but he choked it back. It must have been an obvious response, though, because Kate just smiled sadly at him, eyes dark, giving him an almost imperceptible shake of her head. And then she was kissing him, and he couldn’t think about Oregon or anything else.


	5. Chapter 5

_Black satin was a low blow_ , Will decided, slumping against the wall of the plane. The beginnings of a tension headache were throbbing at the base of his skull, and he closed his eyes against the gritty sting of exhaustion and raw emotion. _Yeah_ , jeered a snide voice in his brain, _how could she give you exactly what you always fucking wanted? Just awful._ Almost immediately, his heart fired back with a painfully earnest rejoinder. _That was the worst of it, wasn’t it?_ Once, on a particularly shitty day, after he turned in an especially uninspired draft, Toby had fixed him with a baleful stare and asked, in a tone that brooked no evasion, “What is the thing you desire _most_ in the world? The thing you _cannot stop thinking about_?” Will had turned crimson and blurted out something about the perfect wheel of Brie. Toby, eyes flat black, had crumpled Will’s draft in his fist. “Well, I knew it wasn’t _fucking_ democracy,” he responded, low and poisonous. “Get the fuck out of my office.” Toby had never apologized – not in so many words – but a week and a half later, a wheel of Brie had appeared in Will’s office. A week after that, Toby was gone. What Will couldn’t bring himself to say on that day or on any of the hundreds of hectic days in the White House was that, if he’d had to lay out the most perfect imaginable thing, it would have been Kate in black satin and just _hours_ of uninterrupted time to themselves. Trust Kate to know him well enough to give him exactly what he wanted most; trust Kate to make him realize that his ultimate fantasy wasn’t the ultimate fantasy anymore. Trust Kate to do it by breaking him in half. He’d realized the change in the moments just before his alarm went off, as Kate rolled over and put the first centimeter of space between them. He lay there, watching quietly as she dressed in the thin morning light, and realized that the thing he wanted most was to be watching her pre-flight routine: twisting her hair into a bun that could withstand TSA, turbulence, and the second coming; running through a final, practiced check of her carry-on; chiding him for moving so slowly in the way that always made him want to write off the flight and just jump her, show her what going slow had to offer. Will had closed his eyes and let himself imagine watching her swing her duffel onto her shoulder and lead him toward the terminal. Now, back in self-imposed darkness, the longing had only gotten stronger. If he never opened his eyes, he thought wildly, the person in the seat next to him would always be Kate. _If you never open your eyes,_ the snide voice piped up, _the doughy ex-frat boy trying to appropriate your armrest is going to use you in his reboot of Weekend at Bernie’s._ Will bit back a groan. He wasn’t sure if the snide or sincere version of himself was worse; he was tempted to get up and walk the aisle of the plane, trick-or-treating for Klonopin, but that seemed like a surefire way to get dropped in some flyover shithole with no Kate, no Congress, and no return ticket. Forcing his eyes open, he fumbled for his beginner’s guide to home ownership. Swallowing nausea, he flipped aimlessly to the chapter on inspections, trying to focus as the first leg of the flight to his future wore on.


	6. Chapter 6

Commander Kate Harper didn’t mope. She fucking _didn’t._ And because Commander Kate Harper categorically and unequivocally _did not_ mope, she had no way of describing exactly what the fuck she did for the entire day after she left Will’s apartment. _Grieving_ felt pretentious, and _meditating_ was a flat lie – she’d gone home, drawn the blinds, pulled up Will’s flight information, and watched until she could confirm that his second flight had landed in Portland. Sure, she’d successfully emptied her mind for the majority of the hours she spent staring blankly at a digital representation of his absence; when she’d snapped back to, she realized she’d been crying. Refusing to consciously indulge in either tears or the temptation to call the car rental services at PDX and play the part of concerned-assistant-who-just-wants-to-double-check-the-car-reservation, she stripped and sent herself to bed. If she opted not to shower away the scent of Will’s skin, that was her own goddamned business. She typed out “home safe?” and hovered over the “send” key before forcing herself to delete the message. Blowing out a breath, she set the phone aside and turned it off. _Clean break_ , she reminded herself, _clean fucking break._  

 _A clean break doesn’t mean having to wait a month to make sure he didn’t die in a car crash, Harper._ Swearing viciously under her breath, she reached for her phone, typed the message and hit send.

The chime of his phone was out of place in the sullen stillness of Will’s hotel room. He was tempted to ignore it – this was his night to luxuriate in missing Kate; hell, as far as he was considered, _every night_ could be his night to luxuriate in missing Kate. There was nobody around to tell him different; Oregon was a state of polite strangers, and tonight they could go fuck themselves. (Tomorrow, vote Bailey.) It was probably Elsie, though, he realized, and if he didn’t respond she would punish him for _years._ And she would worry about him drowning in a puddle of his own tears, which wasn’t how a bright 20-something should be spending her time. With a gusty sigh, he reached for his phone and _holyfuckingshit_. Whatever the positive version of a punch to the gut was – a mouth to the dick? That was vulgar and he hated it, but also he had a text from Kate Harper and he didn’t know how he would ever recover from this moment – the rush of anticipation right before he knew what she’d said. It was Christmas morning and three orgasms at once and a bright, wrenching sense of loss because _she should fucking be here_ , being jet lagged and sarcastic and _his._

“home safe?” she’d asked, and Will almost sobbed out loud. Barely thinking, he snapped a picture of himself, propped against the pillow, flashing a thumbs-up. He sent it, cursed, and felt a flush of self-loathing. His _one chance_ and he sent a fucking _selfie?_ Not a hot one, either, not that he would know where to start with that, but _Jesus fucking Christ._

 _Communications director, my fucking dick, Bailey_ , he thought, defeat overpowering anger. For a few frantic seconds, he started typing a follow-up; the moment passed, though, and whatever amalgamation of _I love you, please come to Oregon_ , _I’m not sure if I ever said I need you but I do_ he’d been crafting was consigned to his list of bad ideas.

Kate couldn’t hold back a choked sob when the goddamned picture came through. A perfect response was _expected_ from him at this point – not that she didn’t appreciate the way he could bend words to his will, but she’d steeled herself to resist a prose version of Song of Songs. She could have handled that. The picture was totally unexpected, and it hit her like a bullet. He was rumpled and wan and plainly exhausted; his hair was a little mussed, the way it always was after shitty days, and his smile was crooked. He was wearing an Air Force t-shirt that she’d almost stolen from him more times than she could count. She was suddenly wracked with tight, tense anguish; she wanted to crawl through the screen and smooth his hair and suck a line of bruises across his collarbone and prove to them both that he was hers. And maybe even that she was his. That they were _theirs._

The line of light gray typing bubbles danced in front of her eyes, and her breath caught in her throat. She waited, but they stilled and faded. 

Muffling a sob in her pillow, Kate forced herself to lay the phone down. She couldn’t force sleep, but she could lay very still with her eyes closed and think about nothing – not the future, not Will, not Oregon, not Will… Her hand inched toward the juncture of her thighs as she lay there _not thinking_ about Will, but she snatched it back. By the time the morning light seeped through her window, her control was locked back down, her face inscrutable.

She didn’t delete his selfie.


	7. Chapter 7

Kate was good at her job. Kate was _very_ fucking good at her job, which made it even harder to accept that at some point, she had stopped liking it. She didn’t miss the White House, necessarily. She missed _her_ White House. Even when she’d disagreed with the Bartlet administration, there was no question that she fit there – that she was heard, was valued, was part of a concerted effort to good and do it well. Not that she didn’t believe that the Santos administration had the same goal – she knew they did. They just didn’t have the same team. The Santos administration’s answer to Nancy McNally was a short-sighted prick; Josh Lyman was talented, but he was no CJ Cregg; and she couldn’t see a place for herself on that roster. Besides, there was nobody there she’d be willing to switch entrees with. Anyway, she didn’t _hate_ consulting. They valued her experience, which she appreciated, and the hours were better. It was just that the problems she got to work on were nowhere near as challenging or exhilarating as the ones she’d handled at the White House, and her coworkers ranged from insufferable to irrelevant. She liked the receptionist, though. Forcing her attention back to the dossier on her desk, Kate allowed herself a sigh. She would probably like her job better, she acknowledged, if she found something fulfilling to do outside of work. Something to highlight why those easier hours were a benefit. As it was, though, the idea of searching out a “fulfilling hobby” made her want to gag. The hours between 7 AM and 7 PM were a gray haze; the hours when she wasn’t at work were honestly not much different. It wasn’t that she didn’t _do_ anything. Her exercise schedule was far more regular than it had been in years. She kept close - and critical - tabs on the Santos administration’s Kazakhstan strategy, and dodged calls for comment from reporters who remembered her from the White House. Her personal life wasn’t dead, either – she and CJ had a game of phone tag running. So far, they were at three months of calls without a single conversation; at some point, she was going to have to ask for a detailed schedule of times when CJ wasn’t at work or fucking Danny into next week, but for now, the thrill of the chase was enough. Hell, Kate had even been on a date, albeit with a total asshole. She considered it an unqualified success when she didn’t stick a fork into some squishy part of her dinner companion. Somehow, he’d failed to pick up on how close he’d come to death; he’d called her at work when she’d screened him on her cell, but Mavis (the receptionist) (her only good coworker) had told him to fuck off. She might get a dog. She knew everything there was to know about the House race in the Oregon 4th.

The sound of someone awkwardly clearing their throat had her head snapping up in alarm. Jordan, their… intern? Systems analyst? Jordan, whose job description she couldn’t _quite_ put her finger on, stood sheepishly at the door. “So,” he began, staring at something between her desk and the floor, “what was it like growing up in Oregon?” She stared at him, unsure of what, exactly, this interaction was supposed to be. “I… I didn’t grow up in Oregon,” she responded, hoping he would meet her eyes so she could get a better read on him. “Navy brat, so base to base until I went to the Academy.” Jordan let out a dismayed squeak before apparently mastering himself enough to nod in response. “Oh, cool,” he said, half-swallowing his words. “Naval Academy, very cool.” Kate thought desperately back to every staff meeting they’d had, trying to recall if she’d been assigned to mentor Jordan in some capacity. Whatever his job was, he was reasonably good at it, she knew, especially for someone fresh out of undergrad - she’d heard… someone saying so. Definitely. He was tall and athletic, and generally – on days not today – carried himself confidently, and none of this information was helping her figure out why the hell he had planted himself in her office doorway. It had been at least a minute since either of them had said a word, and he was still standing there, eyes darting desperately from side to side. “Jordan,” she began, aiming for a tone of graceful professionalism, “was there –“ Just then, Doug, their objectively awful energy security expert, skidded to a halt in her doorway. “Jordan!” he exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder, “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a date tonight? You’ve been talking about it all week – are you seriously going to be _late_?” Jordan flushed a dull red, and understanding washed over Kate. Fighting the urge to laugh – or run screaming from the room -  she closed her laptop and rose from her desk. “If you have plans, then I’ll stop holding you up, Jordan,” she said (kindly, she hoped). “Walk out with me?” Nodding goodbye to Doug, she grabbed her purse and headed for the elevators, Jordan close behind. “So, I guess… I guess you figured out my… date,” he said quietly, reaching past her to press the down button. Kate smiled gently. “I’m flattered,” she said quietly. “I really am. I just… I don’t date coworkers. It’s not really my style.” She waited until he met her eyes, until she could see that he bought the lie, before continuing. “I respect you, and I like working with you. I think it’d be best if we kept it like that.” Jordan nodded. The elevator doors opened, and she felt a surge of relief. “See you tomorrow,” he offered with a half-smile. Kate stood back, giving him a head start as she processed what had just happened.


	8. Chapter 8

CJ’s voice on the line was constricted with laughter. “Are you seriously telling me that you opted out of hearing a 23 year-old’s Oregon-themed pickup lines? _Why?_ ” Safely curled up on her couch with Will’s first local TV interview cued up on her laptop, Kate finally felt removed enough to laugh about Jordan’s romantic debacle. “I… _God_ , I don’t know, CJ! Terrible Doug was there, I guess, but more than that… I felt bad?” “ _Bad?!_ Kate, come _on._ He sounds like he’s young and beautiful and dumb in an appealing way. Why are you turning that down?” Kate couldn’t help but laugh at that. “He’s a _child._ I could be his _mother_.” “Oh, don’t give me that shit.” “And he isn’t dumb! I mean, granted, he wasn’t a sparkling conversationalist today, but he’s really not stupid. At least, I don’t think he is, and I'm pretty sure I’d remember.” “Don’t think I didn’t notice you failing to contradict me on the beautiful part. So he’s young and hot and _smart_ and you’re not going to let him show you how attractive he finds you?” Exasperated, Kate sighed. “He’s my _coworker._ And he’s a _baby_ , CJ. It’d be gross. I’ve never been so profoundly unattracted to a nice, good-looking person before.” “Ugh, fine. Will you at least tell me why he thinks you grew up in Oregon? Or is that his way of trying to clue you in on his evergreen fetish?” Startled, Kate laughed. She’d forgotten about that part of the story – forgotten that CJ might not know _exactly_ how close she and Will had gotten. Or that, even if CJ _did_ know, she might not suspect that Kate’s obsession with Oregon politics was obvious enough for someone to assume that she had some kind of personal tie to the state. “Kate?” CJ prompted, clearly starting to put things together. “Isn’t Will Bailey running in the Oregon 4th?” Kate was horrified to feel the press of tears behind her eyes. “…yeah,” she admitted, voice small. She waited for CJ to tease her about how dating co-workers “wasn’t her style,” but CJ was quiet on the other end. “Oh, honey,” she said quietly. “It’s like that?”

Kate usually cried silently, but somehow a sniffle escaped, and then the floodgates opened. She poured out the whole story – from switching entrees at the end of the world to black satin and dry rot, intermixed with her job indifference and her hobby deficit – as CJ listened patiently, making soothing noises. Finally, it was all _out_ , and Kate could focus on bringing her breathing back under control. She hiccupped. “How did I not know you were so good at helping people fall apart?” she asked with a watery laugh. “That’s Danny,” CJ replied wryly; “I’ve been learning from experience. I fall apart, he listens, we put me back together, we make out like teenagers.” “You sound happy,” Kate noted. “You sound really, really good.” Kate heard CJ take a steadying breath. “I am good,” she began, “better than I thought I could be. I love him, Kate,” she admitted. “I love him like I was afraid I would, but it doesn’t hurt.” “Yeah?” Kate prompted, smiling at the wonder in her friend’s voice. “I mean, we’re _disgusting_ ,” CJ continued, laughter in her voice. “I worry about him when he gets _sunburnt._ We live in Los Angeles, Kate, and you’ve seen his complexion. I worry about him _constantly_.” There was an ache in Kate’s chest making itself known under her happiness for her friend. “So it’s what you hoped for? I mean everything – the job, the city, the sunshine, Danny…” “It’s more than I let myself hope for,” CJ corrected her. “I put everything I had into the White House, Kate, you know that, and I got a lot out of it. I’m proud of that. But I never even knew I could feel like this. It’s hard sometimes, having everything I decided I couldn’t have, trying to let myself be happy and normal and loved. But I’m learning to be good at it.” Kate paused, weighing the pros and cons of her next statement. “I… CJ, I want that.” “Yeah?” CJ asked quietly, understanding the weight of what Kate had just said. “I was going to put it off for a while,” Kate confessed. “Adopt a dog, do more running. Suck it up.” CJ waited for the rest, not offering anything to fill the silence. Kate plunged on. “But it doesn’t feel like there’s any reason to stick it out here. I don’t think I need to stay in DC to do the work I want to do. Hell, I don’t even know what work I want to do, but I don’t think I’m going to figure it out if I keep throwing all of myself at keeping up the status quo.” She waited a beat, thinking through what she’d said. “Still might get the dog, though.”


	9. Chapter 9

Will was hip-deep in a draft of his stump speech when his phone started buzzing. Rubbing at his temples, he allowed himself to look away from Lauren Shelby’s edits, which crawled neatly all the way up the margin of the page. The number on his caller ID was from the White House switchboard. His eyebrows winged up involuntarily as he swiped across the screen to answer. “Hello?” he began tentatively, not sure who to expect – or what stage of rage or mania or righteous determination he would find them in. “ _Will Bailey!_ ” exclaimed the voice on the other end, delight evident in every syllable.“It is _so good_ to hear your voice.”  _Sam fuckin’ Seaborn_ , Will thought, a smile crossing his face in automatic response as Sam’s easy warmth crossed the continent. He was about to respond with a the expected “it’s good to hear from you, too,” and let the Santos administration’s deputy chief of staff to get straight to the point, but it was 12:15 on the West Coast, which meant it was grotesquely late on the East Coast. Decorum was sleeping.

Will chuckled, surprised to feel laughter pass his lips light and easy for the first time in months. “You know, Sam, that charm would be positively _lethal_ if you weren’t so committed to only using it for good,” he teased. He could just _see_ Sam’s surprised grin, could practically feel the light stutter he got when he was complimented welling up. _Fuck it,_ he decided, and pressed the point. “Honestly, how does the White House mailroom cope with all the panties people send you?” Sam sputtered, laughing. “Maybe that’s why they’ve been sending me to the Hill instead of the morning shows,” he responded. “Jesus, I’m not sure,” Will drawled. “I mean, I get that Congress is easier to handle, numbers-wise, but given the choice between sifting through the underwear of the American people at large or just the House Republicans’ bloomers... I’ve never heard a more compelling case for getting in touch with the public.” Sam snickered. “I think my Senate race proved us wrong on that one,” he said wryly. “Either Orange County is extraordinarily choosy or I’m just not the panty-dropper you think I am.”

Evidently, it was late enough for honesty, and there was no chance Will was letting that one go. “I think we both know that was obvious mismanagement,” he countered. “I mean, come on. They ran you without reference to your strengths. It took fucking _local news_ to get footage of your flawless face making all the right points on the beach. Your campaign manager never gave the public a chance to fall in love with you.” Sam blew out a breath, half laugh, half sigh. “Well, I guess I’ll have to get you on board for the next one, right?” Will’s ears perked up, the campaign manager in him at full attention. “You mean it?” “Will, you’re going to _be in Congress_ , you can’t manage my –“ “No, I mean the next one. You’re going to try again?” Sam hesitated, but Will was already tensed for triumph. “Yeah, I think so –“ Sam began, and Will whooped. “ _Hell yeah!_ ” he exclaimed. “In a couple years,” Sam qualified. “Not while everything’s still so new around here. But you knew that.” “Still stoked,” Will insisted. He could hear Sam shifting in his chair, and figured they were about to get down to business.

“ _Christ_ ,” he heard Sam mutter. Concerned, Will spoke up. “Everything OK?” “Hmm,” came Sam’s distracted response. “Just got an email. I think… I think Ainsley bought me an NRA membership?” A helpless laugh caught in Will’s throat. “ _What?_ … Ainsley Hayes? Why would she do that?” Sam paused. “I think I made her nervous,” he admitted. “We were… I don’t know, spending a lot of time together. Getting dinner, calling each other just to argue late at night. Not a relationship, not yet, but I thought we had a shot _._ But once Santos took office, she got tense – I think she was worried about being my switchboard scandal. Or me being hers. Y’know, that we’d tank each other’s careers.” Maybe he was just tired, but Will wasn’t making the connection. “So she bought you a gun? And a devoted pack of lobbyists?” Sam snorted. “No, I… No gun. Just, I think she’s trying to highlight all the reasons it won’t work. Trying to make me realize that I want to stop calling.” “ _Do_ you want to stop calling?” Sam sighed. “No. But I also don’t want to join the NRA. And I’m not sure how to fire back – I don’t want to roll over, but I don’t want to respond and just convince her that she’s right.” Will considered. “Planned Parenthood? The ACLU? The American Constitution Society?” “There’s a decent chance she’s already a member of Planned Parenthood and the ACLU. I’d probably get a note calling me a closed-minded, unimaginative misogynist for assuming that she wasn’t. And she’s definitely Federalist Society over ACS, but it’s not as tidy as her NRA jab.” Will rolled his eyes. “You could send her ammo,” he offered. “Or muffins. Is she still with the White House Counsel?”

“No,” Sam murmured, “Probably for the best, at least as far as scandal prevention goes. She joined a firm a few months ago. Same, ah… Same firm Laurie’s at.” Will choked. “ _Laurie,_ Laurie? GW Law, media shitstorm Laurie?” Sam sighed, but didn’t contradict him. “Yeah.” He waited a beat, like he was contemplating his next sentence, before deciding to go for it. “I’ve, ah, talked to her, too. We got dinner.” Will leaned back, suppressing a groan. “She hasn’t changed.” Will let the groan out. “Man, Sam, you don’t take the easy road.” Sam huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, speaking of the easy road…” Will waited, a little confused. “I don’t really know how to ask this,” Sam began, “because I feel like I got pointed in this direction with incomplete information. But you knew that Commander Harper took one of the hundred thousand consulting offers that got thrown at her after she left the White House.” A frown settled between Will’s brows. “…yeah?” “Well, she left it about a month ago. Amicably and all that, but she walked away from a good gig. And since then, our National Security Advisor has been muttering about how now that she’s a free agent, we’re going to see a bunch of articles just _razing_ our Kazakhstan plan.” Will waited, offering nothing. “And first I called CJ, because I know how much she respected Commander Harper, just to see if she knew anything about what her plans were, where she was headed.” The power play would be to stay silent, but Will couldn’t risk Sam moving on to the next point without sharing information. “What did CJ say?” “That’s just the thing,” Sam replied, sounding mildly exasperated. “She said to ask you.” Will gave a short, harsh laugh. “I… I wish I could help you, Sam. But I haven’t got a clue. All I can say is, if she _does_ decide to skewer you, they’ll be damn good articles.” Something in his voice must have given him away, because Sam’s tone was soft when he responded. “She sign you up for the NRA?” he asked. Will laughed again, easier this time. “Worse,” he said tiredly. “She signed me up for Congress and told me I was moving to Oregon.”


	10. Chapter 10

“How long do you want to stay?” Kate leaned on the easy, welcoming tone of CJ’s voice, trying to soothe the panic that had been bubbling up since she officially gave notice at work. _How long did she want to stay_? A sharp stab of anxiety ran through her. She had no idea. “Just… just a few days? I don’t want to put you out, I know how busy you both are, and –“ “Kate, stop it. We have the guest room, and I have to say, it’s prime – Danny’s a little bit obsessed with it. He _loves_ guests. If you don’t come stay, I’m going to come home and find out that he’s opened a bed and breakfast.” Kate laughed, hoping her nerves weren’t obvious. “I can’t wait to see you both,” she began. “And it’s been a long time since I was in LA. Thank you so much for…” CJ breezed past Kate’s sudden stiltedness. “We’re thrilled you’re coming,” she said warmly, and Kate was struck by how easily CJ and Danny had become a “we.” “The only condition is that Danny might haul you in as a guest lecturer. He was just talking about how incredible your experiences are, how unique your perspective is, all of that. If you want me to warn him off, though, just say the word. Oh, and I’m _definitely_ going to pick your brain on some security questions for the Foundation. That’s non-negotiable, Danny can’t save you. So don’t get any ideas about this being a real vacation.” The tension in Kate’s chest eased. “I’d love that. All of that – tell Danny yes for me. Is it sad that I’m much more excited about having time off now?” “Oh, _God_ , yes,” CJ said wryly. “Tragic. And I can say that authoritatively, because I always feel the exact same way.” CJ paused, considering. “Stay a week, Kate. Hell, stay two. Two is better. Gives you time, takes the pressure off.” Something inside Kate eased. “You’re sure?” “Oh, for Christ’s sake. Get here, Commander Harper. Stay two weeks. Be my friend.”

The flight was fine. More than fine, really – the Santos administration’s first major deviation from the Bartlet administration’s Kazakhstan strategy happened in the middle of the night before she left, so she had plenty to keep her occupied. She didn’t even bother flipping through _SkyMall_. She’d woken up to nearly a dozen emails from journalists looking for comments and an invitation to contribute from _Foreign Policy._ The administration’s memo for the Kazakhstan strike had leaked (or been released – no one seemed quite sure) almost immediately, so she didn’t even have to wait for complete information to become available. In the cloistered stillness of the trans-continental flight, she read the memo, considered the actions the administration had taken, and settled in to write. She’d always liked _Foreign Policy._ By the time the plane had taxied to the gate in LA, she had her first draft hammered out.

Kate had planned to take a taxi from the airport, had been deliberately vague about her arrival time with CJ, but when she got to the baggage claim, she immediately spotted Danny Concannon’s unruly copper curls. He was waiting with her suitcase in hand, leaning against the wall with an amiable grin. She grinned back – somehow you just couldn’t _not_ smile back at Danny; it was probably part of what made him so successful at getting people to tell him all the things they'd never meant to share. Like now – she’d meant to greet him cheerfully ( _normally, Harper, pretend you’ve talked to a person before_ ), but something about his rumpled ease made her uncomfortably honest with a man she really barely knew. “I thought I’d be cabbing it,” she heard herself say, and awarded him credit for keeping his eyebrows from flying up to his hairline. “You can never pull one over on CJ,” he responded cheerfully. “She had your flight pegged from the minute you started giving wishy-washy answers about timing. You know how she gets with plans.” Kate sighed. “I thought I could spare you a drive, since you guys have been so generous about everything, but –“ Danny’s chuckle cut her off. “Kate,” he said gently, “she’s so excited you’re coming. I mean, we both are, but she’s your friend, I’m just some guy. She’s over the moon – she’d have driven to the airport herself, but she had a meeting, and even if I didn’t like you – which I do - I’d drive to the airport every day of the week just to see her like that.” Kate took a beat, absorbing that as they headed to the parking garage, and decided to roll with the welcome. She snorted. “Just some guy, huh?” Danny smirked at her, quirking a brow. “Is that the title they gave you with the second Pulitzer, or is it how CJ refers to you in polite company?” He laughed outright. “It’s how I asked my students to address me in written correspondence, _thankyouverymuch_. And it’s _definitely_ at least how CJ’s brothers think of me – some guy CJ’s shacking up with on the west coast.” Kate rolled her eyes as Danny put her bags in the trunk of his car. “I’m honestly not sure she’s told them I exist. She claims it’s because the golf-y one is a big, embarrassing fan of my books, but I have my doubts.” “The _golf-y one_?!” Danny paused, pulling onto the highway. “…Hogan’s dad. Come on, cut me a break. I’ll have time to learn their names before Christmas. Besides, CJ thought my sister Maureen’s name was Doris until _literally_ the day before they met.” As Danny maneuvered through traffic, Kate was struck by how tense she _wasn’t_ – how easy it was to relax, enjoying the sunshine in the company of someone she didn’t know much about, but who was quickly becoming a friend. “So, CJ told me I get to guest lecture your class,” she began. Danny brightened. “You’re excited about it?” he asked, sounding mildly incredulous. “Usually, I have to beg people.” Kate laughed. “I’m looking forward to it,” she admitted. “Tell me about your students.” It was the right question to ask – not just for learning about his class, but for learning about him. Eyes dancing with the joy of a gossip with a good audience, Danny was off and running.


	11. Chapter 11

Pretty soon, Danny wasn’t the only one talking. Kate hadn’t expected to find herself telling him that the Naval Academy had floated an offer of a position as a visiting lecturer; hadn’t thought that the first person to hear her admit that she’d been tempted by the offer would be Danny Concannon. Once the words started coming, though, she couldn’t seem to stop them. The positive points came out first - it could be fun, it would be meaningful, and while teaching would be challenging, there was something appealingly intuitive about the Academy. She’d gone through it as a student and succeeded, and there would be comfort in knowing that uncertainties could be settled with a reference the chain of command, and awkwardness could be banished with a “Beat Army!” With anyone else, she would have kept the negative considerations to herself, but Danny made it easy to talk. He _listened,_ face neutral – not in the way that meant he was carefully schooling it to blankness, but in the way that meant he was weighing the information as it came in. He didn’t interrupt her for anything, although when she said something he found compelling, she could tell – he let off a little hum of agreement, practically subsonic, that encouraged her to expound. More than anything, though, was this: Danny somehow made her feel comfortable telling him about _possibilities_ – about plans too nebulous and distant to qualify for the description. Generally speaking, Kate told people about her next moves only when they were so well-settled that all she had left to do was collect her congratulations and be on her way. She’d been uncomfortable announcing her _engagements_ , for Christ’s sake, because telling people to save the date felt like making a commitment she couldn’t guarantee. With Danny, though - she knew that even if she was honest about being uncertain about the offer, he wouldn’t smirk, wouldn’t presume that her indecision meant she’d fail at something new. Maybe it was the reassuring half-smile that hadn’t left his face since he picked her up; maybe it was the way none of his questions were condescending. Probably, Kate acknowledged, it was the fact that his years of loving CJ, _believing_ in CJ gave him ample experience in treating daring dreams with confidence. “What’d you tell them?” Danny asked, tone relaxed. Kate huffed out a breath. “I… I told them not yet. I feel like I need to do something else before I take on a teaching role, you know? I don’t want my last _contribution_ outside the Academy to be consulting. Maybe that’s ridiculous, but I just… wasn’t ready yet. Couldn’t even tell anyone I was thinking about it.” One of Danny’s eyebrows flicked up. “You got that kind of offer and didn’t tell anybody?” Kate sighed. She’d been this honest so far, so why the hell not. “I, ah, typed it out to one person. All of it. Pros, cons, terms and conditions.” She paused, took a moment to appreciate the ache in her chest. “Didn’t send it.” Danny nodded like that made perfect sense, and pulled the car into the driveway of a house framed by leafy shade trees. “Then let me be the first one to tell you congratulations,” he said evenly, putting the car in park, “on a fantastic opportunity, for whenever you decide you want it.” She smiled, suddenly unspeakably grateful that she could count Danny among her friends. “I _would_ be the first to welcome you to the house, but…” Kate’s car door opened, and CJ’s commanding voice rang out – “You can get out or I can come in, but -” Kate didn’t wait for the rest of the sentence. Laughing, she rose into her friend’s arms.


	12. Chapter 12

They had a lemon tree in their back yard. Kate could see it from the window of the guest room, which was in general profoundly comfortable in the way that she was quickly coming to associate with Danny Concannon. She’d found herself staring at the tree, noting the way sunlight dappled its trunk, how the small, plump lemons bobbed when the breeze toyed with the branches; had gotten in the habit of spending an hour or two under the tree in the morning, working on her _Foreign Policy_ article, checking Will’s campaign coverage, or just enjoying her coffee. This morning was no different. Leaning her head against the trunk, Kate thought back over the week, memories swirling in and out of focus in her half-caffeinated haze. The first night had been a blur - CJ singing “The Jackal,” hips in full swing as she delivered her _first. ever._ attempt at lasagna to the table; Danny trying to see how many military-isms he could get Kate to spit out automatically (and whether her Pavlovian conditioning was stronger or spottier when wine was involved). The next morning, a letter from Dayton, Ohio had rocketed Danny into a frankly unsettling state of joy – apparently, CJ’s high school ( _perhaps_ at the suggestion of Jed Bartlet, who had  _perhaps_ beenprompted by Toby Ziegler in happier days) had decided to dedicate its new gymnasium to her, which meant that Danny’s grand plans to hold CJ’s hand in the bleachers at the inaugural basketball game in the Claudia Jean Cregg Gymnasium were finally more than a pipe dream. Little moments from the past few days tangled behind Kate's eyes – poring over CJ’s security plans for the Foundation’s planning trip, marking potential hot spots on the map with marshmallows commandeered from their much-delayed bonfire’s s’mores supply; CJ reading Kate’s draft for _Foreign Policy,_ an “I guess it’s technically not classified” frown warring with a proud smile; Danny editing the draft, red pen clenched between his teeth; the (embarrassing) rush of pride she’d felt when Danny fucking Concannon laid down his pen, grinned, and proclaimed her article _damn good_ ; Danny’s class peppering her with questions about what it was like being the vault, not the crowbar – no shit, some kid _literally phrased it like that_ , and Kate had to resist the temptation to leap the podium and update the wording on her resume. She’d kept a poker face; Danny, prostrate with laughter in the back row like some kind of John Hughes juvenile delinquent, hadn’t bothered. Easing back into the present, Kate remembered the conversation from the night before - Will’s first debate was tonight, and CJ had announced that they were cracking out the end-of-days supply of ice cream and whiskey and watching it live. Kate’s shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly as she tried to anticipate what it would feel like to have other people watching her watch Will, as she tried to decide how to play it. She was running through her options when a lemon connected with her head.

“ _OW_ ,” Kate snapped, eyes flying open. Danny, damn him, smirked unapologetically; she reached up for ammunition and let fly in one smooth motion, hitting him in the stomach. Undaunted, he plopped down next to her in the grass. “Is this what you do every morning?” she asked, fondness warring with exasperation. “Plan attacks on the vulnerable and unsuspecting?” Danny snorted. “Oh, please, Commander Proportional Response. Of course not. I sit inside and think deep thoughts about the laudable accomplishments of great people, which I turn into penetrating newspaper profiles or soaring works of biographical artistry –“ Kate jammed an elbow into his side. He exhaled on a cough, side-eyeing her balefully. “Proportional response,” she responded cheerfully. “Who’s your latest victim?” Danny leaned against the trunk of the tree, ease evident in his posture. “Haven’t actually got one yet. Lotta prospects that I’m sifting through, some all-star options that I need to start on so I can be ready to move when they say go.” _Jed Bartlet_ , Kate filled in silently. “My publisher asked if I was interested in writing some kind of journalist’s retrospective – talk about following campaigns, maybe a little White House Press Corps. Still nailing down whether it would be a book or a multi-part with the _Post –_ or maybe with the _Dallas Morning News_ , for a shot of pure nostalgia.” Kate nodded consideringly. “I’d read that,” she offered, “for sure. Maybe not in the Dallas papers, but a book, or a feature for the _Post_ … definitely.” Danny nodded. “So,” Kate began, curious, “Did you actually just come out here to chuck fruit at me?” Danny chuckled. “You looked sad,” he offered. “But that’s just why I threw the lemon. Snap you out of it. I was going to come out here anyway – I wanted to ask you for a favor.” Kate met his eyes, waiting. “One of the books I’m starting to work on – the important kind, where there’s preliminary work for the preliminary work… it’s CJ’s story.” Kate nodded, but Danny’s unrepentant grin suggested that “you’re such a sap” was written all over her face. Since he didn’t seem embarrassed, she went for it. “Not to diminish the gesture or anything,” Kate drawled, “but didn’t you basically _already_ write it? I mean, for a little underground zine called the _Washington Post_ , but…” Danny laughed. “That’s just it, though,” he began. “I mean, that’s kinda what I thought, too, y’know? That I’d covered the big moments. I cared about The CJ Cregg Story, so I made sure I didn’t miss that angle when I covered the administration. I would’ve said I did my job.” He paused, seeming lost in his thoughts. Kate held herself back from throwing another lemon. “ _But_ …” she prodded. “When I came back – for good, at the end of the Bartlet administration… To me, even with all those years away, it never really felt like I left the White House, even when I _needed_ the distance. I kept up, I wrote, I called. I was practically still living on Eastern Standard Time. But when I came back, when she let me back in, I realized that, no matter how I’d felt, from her perspective – hell, from everybody in the White House’s perspective – I’d been pretty damn gone. There was a lot I'd missed, and I could barely figure out where to start catching up. And somebody else can write the grand narrative of the Bartlet administration –“ Kate snorted, and Danny huffed a laugh in acknowledgment. “ _Fine_ , I’ll do a lot of research and interviews and _I’ll_ write the grand narrative of the Bartlet administration. But that research, it’s expected. I’d do it even if I _had_ been there. I’m not missing big pieces - I read the news. I’ll be hunting for backstory. And I can do it better than anybody else, because that was _my_ administration – I knew them, I loved them, they gave me access. But if they decided to give the gig to another writer, they’d get a credible book out of it – anybody would do the same research as a matter of course. But CJ’s story… It might not get the same treatment. I want to be a part of CJ’s story. I _am_ a part of it. But I realized that when I told myself that I _knew_ the CJ Cregg Story, I was just cutting it down to the parts that involved me. And that’s _bullshit._ She deserves better than that, deserves to _expect_ more than that. I want to _know_ her story, the whole thing, every damn page, and I want everyone smart enough to recognize that she’s a woman of fucking consequence to have the same opportunity. The only person I trust to be truly rigorous with her story is me. So I’m gonna write it.” Kate blew out a breath, smiling softly. “So your favor… you want to interview me?” Danny’s lips quirked. “Favor’s a two-parter. That’s the first part, yeah. You matter to her, you worked together. I have all kinds of questions. But, ah, there’s also… Look, like I said, you matter to her. She trusts you. I trust you. And you’re a damn good writer with a grasp of some of the most complicated situations she worked on. When I finish this – it’s personal, and I didn’t ask permission. I’m not marketing this one in advance, not looking for a book deal unless she greenlights it. That means I’m on my own for it, and that I need editors I can trust, who understand that if CJ takes one look at the manuscript and says no, y’know, delete this right now, I’ll burn the whole damn project.” Faintly dumbstruck, Kate leaned back against the tree. “Editors…” she said slowly, still processing. Danny nodded encouragingly. “Toby Ziegler,” he began, watching her reaction, “And you.”


	13. Chapter 13

“You are _ready_ for this debate, Will.” Elsie’s voice was a distant echo in his ears. Will’s heart was beating a frantic rhythm, pulse stuttering in his throat. He might puke, but he _couldn’t_ puke - who would vote Bailey if Bailey was a nervous puker? Besides, even if the people of Oregon could forgive his nerves, if he threw up, Elsie would, too. Elsie always got high-octane keyed up when he was nervous, which was the root cause of the whiplash pep talk she’d been giving for the past hour. The trouble was, he couldn’t focus on her words long enough for them to ease his nerves, and he couldn’t calm himself down enough to soothe her. They’d prepared for tonight – he’d fielded everything from gritty policy questions to ad hominem attacks in practice. Lauren Romano had been particularly good at mixing the two, somehow blending the minutiae of fishing regulations with the implication that Will represented the very worst of DC, Europe, and feminist metrosexuals. Really, what worried him wasn’t the possibility of being stumped by a question, or the fact that the incumbent he was challenging was a son of a bitch. It was the prospect – the _not unlikely prospect –_ of doing his absolute best and falling flat anyway, of showing Oregon what he had to offer and having to watch Oregon say no, thanks. Elsie's tone changed, jolting Will back to awareness of what she was saying. “The old ladies _love you._ You have apple cheeks and a _deceptively_ youthful face; they want to set you up with their granddaughters. You’re all the best parts of the debate team, with the added benefit of no acne. And the old dudes – yeah, fine, OK, they’re not sold. You’ve been boyish too long. It’s not trustworthy. And you talk about the timber industry like you’re giving a book report, not reliving your glory days as a lumberjack, but _that’s OK!_ Authenticity is _key!_ And you’re in the Air Force – they’ll like that. Will Bailey, a Man Who Serves. The youth… well, you aren’t hip, but _neither is Congress_ – that’s what we need to make them realize. You’re as cool as you can be if you’re going to be effective in the House of Representatives, trying valiantly to get them healthcare and a robust economy and some sexy subsidies for timber or fish.” Will barely stifled a groan. “Now, the _middle aged_ bracket –“

“ _Elsie_ ,” Will interjected, hoping he was projecting firm assurance rather than desperation, “I love the pep talk. I appreciate the pep talk. If you could give me the pep talk in writing in the future, that would be… But at this point, I need you to hand me a tie, and then I need to go tell the Oregon 4th that the incumbent’s a prick; the devil they know hasn’t been doing the work they sent him to Washington for; and even if my timber knowledge sounds like a book report, _I did the reading._ ” Lauren Chin, who’d been semi-successfully stifling snickers, rolled her eyes, but held up his tie selection for Elsie’s consideration. “Red for power, blue for truth. Green for Oregon?” Elsie hesitated for a moment, then made her decision. “Blue for truth. Power is, frankly, out of the question at the moment, and you’re not here to tell Oregon about Oregon. At least not yet. Blue. Now, get out there and show them your soft, truthful underbelly. Make them trust you! Show them the steely, service-oriented spine you’re prepared to use to stand up for their interests!” Lauren Chin was laughing openly now; Will straightened his tie and tried to focus on anything other than his “soft, truthful underbelly.” Dimly, he heard the mayor of Eugene winding down his introduction. As polite clapping began, he drew a deep breath, and headed for the stage.


	14. Chapter 14

_Thank God for whiskey_ , Kate thought fervently, as the debate coverage cut to commercial. She forced herself to take a steadying breath, curling into the corner of the couch. “He’s doing really well,” CJ offered, voice steady, eyes kind. Danny nodded, gently nudging CJ off of him as he rose. “And the other guy’s choking, but he won’t shut up. Which is great. It makes Will look strong and capable.” Kate watched as Danny bent to rummage in one of the kitchen cabinets. “What are you doing?” she couldn’t help but ask. CJ flopped against the couch. “He wasted all of his popcorn throwing it at the TV when the douchebag was talking. … You _noticed_ that, right? You’re not _totally_ clenched up in a stress blackout?” “I _saw_ the popcorn,” Kate responded defensively. “I just didn’t think Danny would be so stingy with his own TV snacks, that’s all. He’s out of ammunition with, like, two-thirds of that asshat’s speaking opportunities to go.” “Oh, _stingy_ , am I?” Danny asked darkly. His voice echoed from within the cabinet. “It’s called _portion control_ , but it’s ON now. It’s abundance o’clock and the corn is _popping_.” “ _HUSH,_ ” CJ called, “it’s coming back.” The sound of popcorn popping faded into the background as Kate automatically focused on the screen. “The next question is for Mr. Bailey,” the moderator intoned. An earnest, bearded college boy took the mic, fumbling with his notecards. “ _He’s like disoriented forest sprite,_ ” CJ whispered gleefully. Kate shoved a pillow at her. “Mr. Bailey, how do you respond to your opponent’s accusation that you don’t know Oregon well enough to serve our state’s interests?” _Carpetbagger and implied incompetence_, Kate thought bleakly, eyes fixed on Will. He paused for a moment, but he didn’t _look_ like he was floundering. She felt her nails bite into her palms and noted absently that her fists were clenched. “Well, really, it seems like that was two questions in one. Two important questions, and I’d like to address them both. When my opponent says I don’t _know_ Oregon, what he means is, I’m not _from_ Oregon. To me, though, what matters isn’t where you’re from; it’s where you stand and what you stand for. My opponent’s record shows that while he may be from here, time and time again, he has failed to stand for Oregon when it matters. I promise you that if I have the privilege of representing Oregon in the House of Representatives, I will stand for Oregon’s needs, Oregon’s hopes, and Oregon’s future every day. Now, what do I know about those needs, those hopes? I’ve been traveling the district, meeting with constituents. I’ve seen the tremendous potential of students and researchers here at the U of O; I’ve seen the resilience and determination of Oregonians across the district. In every town, I’ve heard people say, we want _opportunity –_ the opportunity to get a good education, to get a job that pays a living wage, to get affordable healthcare, to buy a home. And it would be my honor to make sure that what you’ve told me is _heard_ in Washington, DC.” Applause swelled through the auditorium, drowning out the beginning of the incumbent’s response, but Kate couldn’t relax. _She’d_ loved it, been totally persuaded, but… Worrying her lip between her teeth, she risked a sidelong look at CJ. CJ was grinning. Kate blew out a breath, tension dissipating a little. “That… was not ten words,” she said cautiously. “ _That_ wasn’t a question with a ten-word answer. Nobody with a ten-word sales pitch for their candidacy should be eligible for office. He had to tell Oregon that they could trust him.” CJ looked over at Kate and burst out laughing. “He _crushed it,_ Kate. That was an answer his campaign staff won’t have to spin. He’s holding his own. You need to _breathe._ ” Three fresh bags of popcorn landed in her lap and Kate jumped a foot in the air. CJ plucked one out of her lap before Kate regained control of her defensive reflexes. Danny snickered. “Try throwing food at the cranky tree-goblin behind the podium on the left. It helps.” Kate smirked. “Glad to see you’ve decided to be more realistic about your ammo requirements.” Danny snorted, reclaiming his spot on the couch. “Give me one of those,” he demanded. “I’m going to popcorn this sonofabitch til he regrets inflicting himself on the general public.” 

 


	15. Chapter 15

The debate had been _fine –_ maybe even better than fine. He hadn’t cursed or choked or said the name of the wrong state; he’d shaken hands with what seemed like every person in the district; he hadn’t lost his glasses or punched his opponent. Actually, a punch might have tested well with the public – but no use sighing over the road not taken. Even almost an hour after the last voters had cleared out, though, driving back to Florence, adrenaline was still humming in his veins. Every mistake and near-miss jangled in the back of his mind, louder somehow in the hush of the car. Will knew he wouldn’t relax until he made it back to his house. He pulled into his dark driveway, suddenly struck by the stillness, the absolute aloneness of the property. _Ridiculous_ , he chided himself. He had neighbors – nice ones. The lights from their homes would be dark at this hour, but in the daylight, he could see their houses down the beach, their mailboxes down the street (if he squinted just right). It was just that there was no one but him at the house tonight – no distractions. The Laurens had considered living with him, but had opted to share an apartment above Vera’s coffee shop instead. “Constituent outreach!” Lauren Romano had said cheerfully; “Gotta get _laid_ , Will,” Lauren Chin had sighed. He honestly wasn’t sure if she’d been talking about herself or him – maybe both. She was nothing if not efficient. When he’d announced that Elsie would be living in his house during the campaign, Lauren Chin had rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they’d ever settled back into place. Even Elsie was gone tonight, though - staying in Eugene for the weekend with a friend in grad school at the U of O. A quick smile crossed his face – Elsie insisted that this was truly a weekend off, that she was going to drink cool beers at cool bars with a cool guy and _not obsess about the debate coverage_ , which only made him certain that her friend was in for a political roller coaster of a weekend. Elsie was positively unstoppable when she was drunk; if he found out that a pack of anthropology TAs and a bunch of frat pledges all woke up with “vote Bailey” tattoos, he wouldn’t be surprised. Will settled himself at his kitchen table, loosening his tie. He was debating the pros and cons of late night ice cream when his phone buzzed. Will rolled his eyes. If Elsie was drunk texting him already, Lord only knew what kind of havoc she would wreak by the end of the weekend. He tapped his messages icon, ready for grammatically impeccable but anatomically impossible suggestions of where his opponent or any given Fox News anchor could shove it, but the name at the top of his inbox wasn’t Elsie’s. _Sam Seaborn_. Befuddled, he opened the message.

**_SS: You were right._ **

Will paused, hoping an explanation would be forthcoming, because “you were right” was quite possibly the most perfect phrase in the English language, but nothing cheapened it more than having to ask “about what?”.

Two minutes passed. He knew, because he was watching his oven clock with near-feral intensity. _Fuck it._

**_WB: About?_ **

His phone buzzed _immediately_ , which told him that Sam had _meant_ to force him to ask the question. _Smug_ , he thought with fond irritation. Well, no. Sam Seaborn had probably never been smug in his glowy, golden life, but this was definitely smug-adjacent.

 **_SS: A couple of things, actually._ ** ****

**_Watched your debate tonight, and you were right about most of that. You could have been righter on timber subsidies – there ARE statistics for this fiscal year, which you TOTALLY knew and omitted._ **

 

**_WB: come on_ **

**_You know what, not even going to dignify that with a defense_ **

**_I’ll just say righter isn’t a word and enjoy my moral victory_ **

 

 **_SS: Not done_ ** ****

**_Blue tie_ **

**_Right choice_ **

**_Assuming you didn’t make that right choice, but my regards to Elsie_ **

 

**_WB: Your NRA membership has made you bitter_ **

****

**_SS: Actually, on that point – muffins and ammo_ **

**_Right about that_ **

**_She laughed AND she didn’t yell at me_ **

****

**_WB: are you dating?_ **

****

**_SS: you’d think I should know that_ ** ****

**_I mean, I also think I should know that_ **

**_I don’t know that_ **

**_But she’s stopped signing me up for horrible listservs, which is close enough to love_ **

****

**_WB: I’m going to reserve the OK Corral for your wedding venue_ **

****

**_SS: I’d tell you to go fuck yourself, but you’re already running for office._ **

**_Oh, and the last thing you were right about_ **

**_It was a hell of an article._ **

****

Will’s chuckle died on his lips; there suddenly wasn’t quite enough air in the room. His phone buzzed again – a link to a _Foreign Policy_ article. His lips tilted in a small, proud smile – then widened into a smirk.

 

**_WB: Figured you’d like her style, Wyatt Earp. She’s a real straight shooter._ **

****

**_SS: I guess I should just be grateful you didn’t cast me as Annie Oakley._ **

****

**_WB: I think we both know that would be aspirational._ **

****

Straightening his shoulders, Will pulled his tie off completely – blue for truth; vote Bailey – and unfastened the top button of his shirt. _Definitely ice cream_ , he decided.


	16. Chapter 16

“Oh, _God_ ,” CJ muttered, lowering her head to the table in defeat. “You _know_ I can’t handle this lecture until I’m fully caffeinated.” “You don’t _have_ to handle it,” Kate retorted, rolling her eyes. “You’ve already _heard_ it; hell, you heard it practically every week – and most weekends - for eight months. You should be able to _give_ this lecture by now.” “I spent eight months _avoiding_ it, Kate. It features prominently in my nightmares. And now you sit at my breakfast table, _in the presence of my pancakes_ , and you start this shit?” Kate snickered, reaching for the coffee carafe. CJ gave a whine of protest. “In my defense, Danny asked.” CJ’s head snapped up. “ _Seriously?!_ ” “What’s the point of hosting an expert if you don’t take advantage of all of their expert opinions?” Danny asked, tone entirely too innocent to be believed. “At _breakfast?_ ” CJ rejoined, tone rising. “At _pancakes_ , Danny?” “No better time,” he responded cheerfully. CJ eyed him balefully, then stabbed a pancake off his plate. Dousing it liberally with maple syrup, she turned a challenging stare on Kate. “Talk fast,” she threatened, “or I’m coming for your breakfast next.” “Look,” Kate began, “It’s hardly revolutionary. You have to approach a problem _within its context._ The situation in Kazakhstan is complicated because Central Asia is complicated. You can’t overlook the history, the culture, the demographics, the resources the interplay of superpowers that’s been affecting the region for _years – none of it’s irrelevant._ The Santos administration seems to think that the way to resolve this problem is to ignore all of Kazakhstan’s idiosyncrasies, but that’s _bullshit._ It’s one of the more stable Central Asian states, sure, but you can’t just pretend it’s interchangeable with Norway or Britain or whoever the fuck. Kazakhstan was part of the Soviet Union; it’s been trying to opt out of international tug of war since it gained independence, but it’s still a saggy kleptocracy using its energy reserves to rent legitimacy, which puts it right back into international dick swinging competitions. I mean, uranium deposits, come _on –_ “

CJ reached over and neatly cut a pancake in half. “Hey!” Danny snipped, beard quivering with indignation. “Why’d she only get docked half?” CJ smirked, making a show of enjoying her commandeered breakfast. “Bonus points for ‘saggy kleptocracy,’” she informed him. “Besides, I kind of like this lecture when I don’t have to be involved in creating an appropriately holistic approach to defusing a heavily armed pissing contest. I can just sit here with my pancakes and say, gee, I think they’re overlooking some relevant factors. _Shameful_.” Danny mulled that over, staring pensively into his coffee for a moment. Then, nodding decisively, he reached over and snagged the other half of Kate’s pancake. Her fork was a flash of quicksilver as she retaliated, pulling his whole second pancake from his plate. Mournfully, Danny contemplated his diminishing breakfast. “You should write a book,” he sighed. “Global strategy, the whole nine. Focus on Kazakhstan, or hell – extend it. It seems like this all-factors approach is probably good advice for all kinds of clusterfucks, Central Asian and otherwise.” “A book?” Kate echoed doubtfully. “A book,” came Danny’s firm response. “Clusterfucks Unlimited: Central Asia to Central America. Brought to you by Kate Harper. Many thanks to the Santos administration for their invaluable contributions.” Wryly, CJ added, “And on behalf of the Santos administration – since no one here seems inclined to speak up for them - if you’d care to enumerate some relevant factors, instead of just mourning their absence…” Kate flipped her the bird, but turned the suggestion over in her mind. _A book… Case studies, maybe - something beyond just refutations of the Santos Kazakhstan strategy._ “It could work,” she was surprised to hear herself say. A flash in her peripheral vision startled her back to reality just in time to see Danny reclaim his pancake. Eyes hopeful, he held it on his fork, hovering above his plate, just waiting to see what she’d do. Kate snorted, laying her fork down to indicate a ceasefire. “Consider it a tip.”


	17. Chapter 17

The Hollis Foundation did Very Serious Work, and CJ Cregg took that work Very Seriously. Today, though, she couldn’t quite focus - she had a new goal on her horizon, not yet more than a steely glint in her eye, but damn if it didn’t have potential. Kate had four more days in LA, and right up until that morning, CJ thought she’d have to accept Kate just going back to DC. But with a _book_ , there was at least an argument for Kate staying _away_ from DC - avoiding all the pressure and the policy gossip and finding a… _haven for creativity sounded overdone_ , CJ noted. Maybe just a haven? A writer’s retreat? But not, like, one of the places that _billed itself_ as a writer’s retreat. _This would all be easier,_ she thought to herself, _if I could just call it what it is: Oregon. It’s Oregon. Go to fucking Oregon and write a book. Bang Will Bailey between chapters._ As if she could sense CJ’s thought process, Kate looked up from the notes she was writing on the Foundation’s project security policies. “You good?” she asked, raising a brow. “Yeah,” CJ said reassuringly, “just trying to work some things out.” Schooling her face into a facsimile of focus, she turned to her computer, pulling up Will’s campaign website. Browsing the schedule of events, she cruised through a seemingly bottomless schedule of town halls and Elks Lodge dinners. She risked another glance at Kate and dismissed the available options. Granted, Kate could make Will swallow his tongue in any setting, and she’d certainly add some charm to a rubber-chicken dinner, but that wasn’t the point. CJ didn’t trust either of them to address the issue head-on; she could just _see_ Kate using some faltering “so weird running into you at the Roseburg Elks Lodge” line and Will _buying_ it, and CJ was _not having it._ “You ready to go over this?” Kate asked from the couch. CJ hesitated. “Definitely. Just let me send this one email,” she murmured. 

“He’s into it,” CJ insisted, resting her head on Danny’s chest. His chuckle reverberated down her spine. “Did you tell him he’s matchmaking?” Danny asked gently, toying with her hair. She smirked. “Honestly, you know Frank Hollis. He probably would have been game. But no, I framed it more as supporting a politician whose values align with his –“ “In _Oregon_ ,” Danny said skeptically. “He’s interested in more than just California and Africa,” CJ retorted, tone arch. She scritched her fingernails against his stomach, enjoying his shiver; he ran gentle fingers along her ribs and she melted into him a little more. Sleepily, she finished her point. “Besides, he knows Will’s opponent. Can’t stand him. So a black-tie dinner fundraiser is probably just the beginning.” She could practically hear him processing the next move. “So, are _you_ going to go?” CJ almost sat up in an indignant huff, but decided she was too comfortable for symbolic gestures. “Of _course_ not. Jesus, I’m not a fucking amateur. When I want to third-wheel an awkward romance, I’ll just sit in on the next call between you and President Bartlet.” “Oh, come on. I’m writing his _biography –“ “_ Not yet, you’re not. You’re flirting. You’re _wooing_ the man, and –“ “ _For the record_ , sometimes _he_ woos _me._ ” “Must be nice,” CJ quipped, and Danny laughed, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Rising above all this slander,” he continued, “What exactly is your plan? Because what I see right now is a pretty great earning opportunity for Will’s campaign that he’s _definitely_ going to take –“ “A good thing _in and of itself_ ,” CJ interjected, “ – but no path to Commander Kate Harper showing up to that event dressed to impress.” He paused. “I mean, granted, this is Kate we’re talking about. She won’t need formalwear to knock Will’s pants off, so I guess you could just go with the shoving her out of a van into the fundraiser option. But…” CJ sighed. “That’s what I’m working on. Not the van, obviously. And not the pants, either. If Will’s campaign gets derailed by public indecency charges, Elsie will gut me with a rusty spoon.” Danny laid a hand protectively over her stomach. “Pantslessness might get him the nudist vote,” he offered complacently. CJ snickered. “I really don’t think I’ll need to trick Kate into this, though,” she began. “I think she’s ready to want it. You know, to let herself want it.” She looked up, trying to read Danny’s reaction. His face was inscrutable, but his thumb ran a slow sweep across her hipbone. “Ready to want it is good,” he said softly. “Ready to work for it, though? Ready to take it?” CJ sighed, rolling to press a kiss to his neck. “I guess we’ll see.”


	18. Chapter 18

When CJ had suggested that they go grab tacos, Kate had _obviously_ said yes. Because tacos - _hell yeah –_ and friendship – _also hell yeah._ And things had been great, except that now, something about CJ’s demeanor – eyes darting nervously around the restaurant, not paying _nearly_ enough attention to the practically pornographic tacos in front of her, hands fluttering nervously – was making Kate realize that there were _far_ too few makeshift weapons in her immediate radius. Something was _clearly_ about to go down. Unless – “CJ, are you about to ask me to make some kind of hit?” CJ’s attention snapped to her, but she just looked confused. Finally, understanding replaced her blank stare. “ _NO_ , Kate, OHMYGOD, holy _fucking_ shit, no.” Kate exhaled, suddenly overcome by nervous laughter. Her urge to start tucking sharp silverware up her sleeve dissipated slightly. “OK,” she murmured apologetically, “ _OK_ , I just… I’m taking my talents freelance, sure, but… not _those_ talents.” CJ laughed, groaning a little. “ _Not_ funny, Harper. Jesus, give me a minute.” She took a deep breath and a sip of her water. Kate forced herself to stay relaxed, trying to breathe evenly as she waited for CJ to _fucking explain._

“OK, look. I’m bad at this. It’s just… sometimes, y’know, we’re… forced into a heroic posture. Gotta _do_ something. And I really feel that this is one of those moments.” Kate paused, a bite of her taco halfway to her mouth. “You’re… not asking me out? Right?” CJ snorted, dissolving into helpless laughter. “ _Christ…_ no. Ah, this is a heroic posture moment _for you._ ” CJ looked at Kate’s expression of absolute bafflement and started laughing again. “ _God_ , I should have made Danny do this,” she muttered; Kate’s eyebrows winged up and CJ struggled to contain herself. “All right, hold it down, I’m getting this out, I promise. It’s just… complicated. Lots of moving parts, and all of them are you.” She didn’t think Kate’s eyebrows could go any higher without causing lasting physical damage. “Well, not all of them.” Evidently, they could. “This book, Kate. I think it’s a great idea. I think you should write it. I don’t think you should do it in DC, though. The minute you get back, journalists and Santos staffers and amorous interns are going to be crawling up your ass, trying to _get_ your opinion or _influence_ your opinion or interest you in an opportunity to co-author a white paper for some shitbag nobody freshman rep from Oklahoma. And all of that can be invigorating, I know, but you have to be in the right _mood_ for it, and it just doesn’t seem like you’ve been _happy_ in DC lately, so I can’t imagine that interacting with DC at it’s DC-iest _and_ when it’s keeping you from doing something you want to do would be… good. You know?” Kate was going to respond, but CJ hit her with a gimlet stare that made it _clear_ she was steamrolling through this declaration _one time only, so help her God_ and Kate subsided.

“… which brings us to the next point. Things you want to do. Um. OK. So, we’ve established so far: the book is good. DC is good, but maybe not right now, and maybe not good _for the book_. And you’re not tied down, Kate, not really – sure, you have a return ticket, but you have a million frequent flier miles; they’re not going to freak if you decide to postpone or whatever. And you have a lease, but you could sublet, or… a few months of rent isn’t going to kill you. I know more than I should about your finances. Plus, the freelance offers are going to skyrocket, maybe a few talk show invitations, some university panels and guest lectures… You’re a free woman. You should go somewhere. Specifically, you should go somewhere you want to go. And before I say this next part, I would like to take your stabby food implements –“ she reached across the table for Kate’s knife and fork, pausing a moment before snagging her spoon, as well, and placing them safely out of reach. “OK, great, thank you. Precautions. And just to remind you, you’re my friend. I love you. I want you to be happy; I want you to get what you want. So I think… I think you should write your book in Oregon. Because you _can_ , because this isn’t an either-or. I think you should take your shot and give him his. And don’t get me wrong, I think you should keep your DC apartment – not as a fallback, but because I think he’s got a pretty good chance, and I _think_ you’re both in it for more than just a campaign fling.”

Kate wanted to laugh, but she was afraid that if she let herself do that, she’d end up simultaneously crying. She also wanted to throw something at CJ, just to prove that disarming Kate Harper wasn’t as easy as confiscating the cutlery. Instead, she took a moment. The pause was evidently too long for CJ’s comfort, though, as she spoke up, all concern and Dayton practicality. “… Kate? Honey? You… kind of look like you’re going to throw up?” The sob-laughter burst out of her, and CJ reached across the table to take her hand. “That was a lot to throw at you all at once,” she said softly, tone soothing, sweeping her thumb across Kate’s knuckles. Kate just kept sobbing. Another glass of water appeared at her side; she looked up in time to see their waitress move quietly away, an understanding smile on her face. Kate also heard the girl behind the counter’s carrying whisper – “ _como una telenovela…_ ” She let out watery chuckle, but started to regain control over her breathing. Taking a sip from her bonus water, she closed her eyes, thinking back over CJ’s monologue. She squeezed her friend’s hand reassuringly, set down her water, and exhaled. “…Yeah.” CJ’s eyes widened comically, her expression incredulous. “ _Yeah?!_ Yeah to _what?_ ” Kate laughed, then sniffled, wiping her eyes and settling her composure back in place. “To all of it, honestly. I… You weren’t the only one who noticed that the book idea gave me… not the _excuse_ I’d been looking for. It's not an excuse - I don’t need an excuse. I’m a grown woman. I’m a fucking Navy commander. I didn’t want to go back to DC, and I didn’t have a good reason to switch my ticket. I could have switched it to, like, Hawaii for no reason. I was thinking about that before the end of my first week here. But I didn’t want to go to Hawaii, I wanted to go _Will._ And it felt like, to go to Oregon, to show up in the middle of his campaign, I needed a reason. And I’ll be honest– it’s not like I’d be choosing Oregon if he weren’t there. But I've done a lot of research, and I like Oregon. I just... if I was going to go, I needed something for _me_ – something to do besides give myself ulcers over debates that he’s _winning._ I wouldn’t do well as a political rink bunny. The book… I want that. I’m going to do it well. And it’s going to give me something to focus on that’s not…” “Banging Will Bailey?” CJ suggested dryly, lips quirked in a salty grin. “No, I mean… well, yeah, but honestly, I wish that’s what I’d been about to say. I was going to say missing him. Um, loving him. I think. No, I – loving him. _Christ_ , I feel sixteen. I was never this sixteen at sixteen. And I just… CJ, he’s going to be so _excited_ about the book. I can just see him now, he _loves_ this shit. He _requests_ the lecture you stole my breakfast over.” CJ snorted. Kate reached over and snagged a handful of chips. “Restitution,” she declared, waving one at CJ. “I mean, really, if I could wait long enough, I bet I could send him a signed copy of the book and get a marriage proposal in return.”

She popped the chip just as the weight of what she’d said hit them both. She choked a little; CJ looked less alarmed by her physical peril than she had been by the casual statement. “Not that… I mean… I just – he –“ CJ blew out a breath. “He loves your mind. That’s not news. Your mind, your personality, your truly remarkable tits. That’s… as it should be. And you don’t want to wait to use a signed book as your grand gesture. Save that shit for when you’re not incoherent with how much you miss him. _And_ with lust, don’t lie.” Kate laughed softly. “Yeah. And.. I just feel like I made that sound very one-sided when it’s _not_. I’m also… his mind, his personality –“ “His tits?” CJ asked, clearly enjoying herself. “…His collarbone?” Kate admitted weakly. “And I mean, his mouth, my God. The glasses… Great hands. Just, you have _no_ idea how -“ “OK, stop. We’re not done here, you can’t drift off into fantasies about Will’s great hands turning your pages.” Kate rolled her eyes; CJ rolled hers right back. “Two orders of business, but since you mentioned matrimony, slight detour – this is all very TBD, but, ah, I found… a ring. I don’t think he was trying very hard to hide it. So I guess I’m on notice, and now you’re on notice, and whenever Danny proposes to me – or whenever I lose my patience and propose to him – will you please come to the wedding? And, um, bring flowers?” An exuberant whoop bubbled in Kate’s chest, but she (mostly) suppressed it. “Of course! Yes! I just… flowers?” “I mean… do you still call it a bridesmaid when everyone involved has been thoroughly un-maided?” Kate broke down into snickers. “… I would love to. Whatever you call it, yeah, count me in.” She tried for her most commanding tone and almost succeeded. “I want to know the _minute_ he… you… one of you asks. And I want info on every near miss. Deal?” CJ grinned, her excitement clear. “Definitely. Yeah. I didn’t think I’d be… _giddy_ , you know? But I am.”

There was a brief pause, both of them savoring the effervescent promise of the moment. CJ snapped out of it first. “OK. Oregon. Game plan. I… may have taken some steps.” Kate came to attention. “ _Steps?_ ” CJ’s lips firmed with determination. “The no stabbing rule is still fully in effect. I looked at Will’s campaign schedule, and honestly, it was underwhelming. Perfectly acceptable from a campaign standpoint, but… let’s just say you’ll have plenty of opportunity to find romance in painfully average dinners at community centers _after_ you make your grand entrance.” Kate lowered her head into her hands, hoping CJ hadn’t entered her into some kind of local pageant. If she had what it took to be Miss Douglas County Pumpkin, she didn’t want to know. “Oh, relax. Jesus,” CJ sniped, apparently able to read Kate’s mind. “I talked to Frank Hollis. You know, meddling old man with more money than God. Effectively owns Montana. My boss.” Kate glared at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Was Frank Hollis _sponsoring_ her to run for Miss Douglas County Pumpkin? “He has a hate-on for Will’s opponent, and he’s a fan of Will’s nascent policy positions. He contacted the Bailey campaign about putting on a black tie fundraiser – you know the deal, ‘ _an evening with Franklin Hollis_ ,’ fifteen hundred bucks a plate.” By the end of the sentence, Kate had perked up considerably, although she was still eyeing CJ warily. “This whole ‘go get your man’ thing is more expensive than I anticipated,” she griped, although there wasn’t much force behind the complaint. “Oh, stop it,” CJ muttered, “You’re included. He asked for plus two, and they’re not idiots. They’d have given him just about anything for an opportunity like this. It’s at some fancy oceanfront setup in Florence – all dark wood and candlelight and sweeping ocean views. It’s perfect. All we have to do is get you a dress.” A slow smile crept across Kate’s face. She could do that. _Black satin_ , she decided, a callback the dress she’d worn to Ellie Bartlet’s wedding. He’d barely looked away from her that night, and they’d been in the same room as the Queen of England. Not that she’d been able to take full advantage of his attention then – she’d gotten yanked away from dinner to steer the Canadian Prime Minister away from each Bartlet daughter in turn, and she’d had to miss out on dancing with Will to prevent Doug Westin from telling everyone in earshot how much Prince Charles looked like the Swedish ambassador. Still, she’d felt Will’s eyes on her the entire night. He’d even saved her a piece of cake, which he’d presented to her when they debriefed the party in his office after the last dignitaries left. She knew from experience that Will Bailey only got better with time, and black satin brought out the best in him. _This was going to be good_.  


	19. Chapter 19

So, it turned out there was more to do than just buy a killer dress. With CJ’s terrifying organizational skills, though, anything was possible. They put CJ on the phone with Delta’s customer service reps while Danny and Kate sifted through the rental properties available near Florence – because frankly, there was no point in coyly bunking down hours away. Besides, she wanted the ocean. They found a sweet furnished cottage available in Heceta Beach – an unincorporated community just a little to the north of Florence. It wasn’t like the house Will had bought – not the kind of house that was a home for the long haul, a place that could anchor a family. It was a good stepping-stone house, though; a good place for dreaming, for writing. A fine house for a first book, well within her budget, and walking distance from the beach. She’d just gotten off the phone with the real estate agent when CJ strolled back in. “They’re giving you a voucher for 30% off your next ticket,” she said, walking over to investigate the listing for the cottage. “That’s great,” Kate responded running the numbers in her head. “That effectively knocks the price of the ticket I’m eating down to like, not quite $200, which is totally –“ “Oh, no,” CJ interrupted, “that’s waived entirely. _Plus_ 30% off the next one.” Kate gaped at her. “But _I’m_ the one bailing on…” CJ smiled archly as Kate tapered off. “You get a house yet?” Kate was still struggling to figure out how CJ had bamboozled the airline, so Danny stepped in. “The agent was getting in touch with the owner to confirm a couple things, but she should hear back in the next hour or two. Helps that her credit score’s golden and she used her title.” “ _Nice,_ ” CJ said appreciatively. “And without the airline ticket, you have more leeway on departure. Fundraiser’s next Saturday, so we can plan accordingly.” Leasing a car – a reliable Subaru that looked like it could handle anything the Pacific Northwest threw at it – was also alarmingly easy. All in all, it shouldn’t have been a surprise to any of them when, barely two days after Kate pulled out of their driveway, the sky fell.

Kate was cruising. There was no reason to drive at a punishing pace, so she’d slotted out some time to do what she wanted to do. She saw the redwoods, shrank her problems down to size in the presence of thousand year-old giants. She’d spent a night in San Francisco and another in Seattle, loading up on Theo chocolate and craft beer and enjoying the perks of having an entire city of coffee snobs. Latte in hand, she was rolling out of the Seattle suburbs toward Oregon, jamming to terrible pop, when her phone rang. Seeing CJ’s name on the lock screen, she took an exit advertising a rest area, pulling in before picking up the phone. “Good morning,” she greeted her friend, stepping out of her car with her coffee. “ _Have you seen the news_ _?_ ” came CJ’s voice, urgent on the other line. A ripple of anxiety ran through her. “No…” she said slowly, waiting for more information. “Oh, God. OK. Brace yourself.” Kate took a fortifying sip of her latte as CJ continued. “So. You know how, late-ish in the Bartlet administration, there was that Chinese satellite, and everyone was freaking out that it would fall and everyone would die and –“ “Yeah,” Kate interrupted, “Yeah, the never-ending satellite alerts. I remember. What…” “Well, the Santos administration got one.” “CJ, they’ve probably gotten several. What goes up must come down and all that.” “Yeah, _that’s_ not the story. So, their national security adviser, General Pindick McWeaselstick the Third or whatever –“ “Oh, stop it, you _know_ his name –“ “Yeah, but it’s not going to be relevant anymore. He was on the morning talk shows for reasons that are flatly incomprehensible. I mean, in the first three phone calls from Josh, he tried to use some pathetic excuse about spinning your attacks on their Kazakhstan plan, but by call five, he’d let that one die, and –“ “The Chief of Staff has called you _five times_ today? It’s not even 9:15.” “Tell me about it. Actually, tell Danny about it. I’m buoyed by the exhilaration of a near miss and a healthy pinch of schadenfreude, but he’s just sleep deprived because my phone’s been ringing nonstop. _Anyway_ , their national security adviser’s running spin, and he gets some pushback from a talking head who’s arguing that the Santos administration is calling for all this action when really, the only threats are paper tigers. Gives the whole, we know what’s on the table with Kazakhstan, and with other global threats, and realistically, none of the dangers we face merit responses that cost a ton of money and risk American lives and curtail liberties on the home front. Go, team world peace! You know the drill, and honestly, any flat-footed, semi-conscious _attempt_ at spin would have worked in that situation, but the dingus must have had a hard week, because he went fucking _postal._ Started talking about how there are threats out there that the Peaceful Pundit can’t even _imagine._ Danger is everywhere _._ In fact, right this moment _, a satellite is plunging from space straight at the West Coast of the United States._ ”

Kate dropped her coffee. “ _He said WHAT?!_ ” “Oh, you heard me. And he said it at, oh, 8 AM Eastern, so every Good Morning West Nutsack news program on Pacific standard time ran with it. If it’s the end of the world, people have a right to know! I honestly don’t know how you missed the coverage in Seattle – or maybe they’re still reeling from seasonal affective disorder, haven’t recovered the will to live, didn’t bother to cover their _imminent demise._  Everybody the fuck else did, though.” “How… what…” “There’s no walking that back, Kate, you know that. The White House has been inundated with calls from governors, who have been hit by a tidal wave of mayors, some of whom are calling the White House themselves. Senators are frothing at the mouth at the thought of asteroid-themed attack ads, and bless the poor fool whose job it is to remind them that this _isn't an asteroid,_ much less that it isn't anything that doesn't happen every third Thursday. The House was already rabid, and now they’re worse. The administration’s made every effort to calm the storm – I think they nailed their press secretary to the podium to make sure no one’s question went unanswered, and they dispatched Sam Seaborn’s sweet, beatific self to every show he can get on. It’s not helping. Children aren’t in school, people aren’t at work, everybody wants to update their wills, but the estate lawyers are hiding under their couches, too, and everyone's going to die anyway, so what's the point? Traffic’s a mess, but nobody knows where they’re going – they just threw the kids in the car and hit the gas.” “Holy shit,” Kate breathed. “Have they just made up a date for when the satellite’s supposed to come down yet?” “I think they’re afraid that nobody will believe them. Which, I mean, the public _does_ think that the President withheld lifesaving information about an imminent threat, so that's a reasonable concern. I think they’re going to send somebody comforting from NASA around to reassure the country that this is more like a loose tooth than a time bomb. Stay tuned to see how that goes.” Kate chuckled weakly, still reeling. “How much longer do you have before you get to Florence?” CJ asked. “Five-ish hours? Maybe more, maybe less depending on how the apocalypse affects the traffic. I haven’t seen any effects yet, though.” “Drive safe, OK? Let us know when you arrive.”

Pulling back onto the highway, Kate got her first taste of public panic when the DJs for the pop station she’d been listening to abandoned any attempt at banter in favor of freaking out about Death From Space. They were hardly alone; as she flipped between stations, only NPR was presenting an even moderately plausible threat assessment (‘there is no threat, just don’t shackle yourself to a buoy hundreds of miles out into open water’ was framed as ‘don’t go swimming for the next three months’). The rest swung wildly between regular programming and hysterical commentary. For Kate, who understood that there was effectively no danger, it was grating; for the average person, it would be terrifying. By the time she crossed the border between Washington and Oregon, her head was throbbing. She turned off the radio, preferring silence to the sound of panic. She wished desperately for a coffee, suddenly remembering the latte she’d dropped. As she approached Florence, she abruptly decided that she didn’t like her odds of finding an open coffee shop in Heceta Beach at the end of the world – and coffee wasn’t something she could leave up to chance.


	20. Chapter 20

As moments of weakness went, Kate felt that this one was excusable. No reasonable person could expect her to get through the afternoon, much less the weekend, still less a post-apocalyptic hellscape, without caffeine. And the sky might be falling – well, it _wasn’t_ , _thank you very much, idiot Santos staffers_ – but surely someone in Florence would recognize that the end of the world was actually a good reason to sell _more_ coffee, not less. Pulling herself out of the car, she spotted a man coming toward her who looked like the fishing boat version of Dumbledore. He _had_ to be local. “Excuse me,” she began, “Do you know if any of the coffee shops in town are open today?” He paused, and Kate could feel all hope of getting through the day dissipating, but then he nodded. “Vera – down at the diner on the corner; she didn’t close a few years back when a whale washed up, stank everybody else out. Bet she’s open.” Relief washed over her – bless this man, bless this town, bless unshakeable, whale-proof Vera. The diner was warm and cozy, with no trace of the buzzy anxiety that permeated the atmosphere everywhere else. It was empty, which didn’t seem right, but the bells on the door jingled cheerfully as she stepped in, and the air smelled like muffins. A sturdy, scowling woman behind the counter looked up at Kate. Vera, Kate decided on the spot. No other option. “Hi,” Kate began, all friendliness. _Here there be coffee._ Vera nodded, which Kate decided to take as a friendly greeting. “We close at three,” Vera offered, with no trace of rancor, but no suggestion that the deadline was flexible. The clock read 2:47. “Oh, OK,” Kate began, weighing her options. If the muffins were as good as they smelled, then she very much wanted to protect her future friendship with Vera. Honestly, even if the muffins were shitty, Vera seemed like the kind of lady you wanted on your side. “I won't hold you up. Can I get a coffee to go – and if there are any muffins, one of those, too?”

Will jumped out of the car while it was practically still rolling, desperate to get away from the recording of his stump speech that Elsie had somehow smuggled into the CD player. The rehearsal was effectively irrelevant now, anyway – he’d bet good money that people weren’t going to show up for a congressional campaign event if they were expecting to get smashed by a satellite. Even if they did show, they were going to want something personal and reassuring, not a canned recitation of a stump speech. Nobody wanted to be fed platitudes in the face of death. In fact, if this idiotic excuse for a near-death experience counted, when faced with his own mortality, Will wanted muffins. He hadn’t timed it _quite_ right, but he figured if he race-walked, he’d have time to hustle into Vera’s, get a coffee and a muffin before she closed, and still make it to his event on time. Of course, even if he got to Vera’s 10 minutes before closing, he definitely couldn’t get there before she resented him for cutting it so close. That was a problem; he was alarmingly close to being in love with her muffin recipe and her unyielding refusal to care about him. Maybe he could bring her flowers tomorrow? But flowers were _average_ , and Vera was a tempest. She had a BrilloPad for a heart, and he was determined to earn himself a place in it. Maybe she’d like something more practical – a bouquet of potatoes? Deep in thought, he looked up at the front door of the diner only to see it opening. _I’m hallucinating_ was his last conscious thought _._

Oh, for fuck’s _sake_ , she _had a plan for this_ , and it was NOT running into him on the middle of the fucking street in the middle of some second-string apocalypse scare. She had a _dress_ for this – black satin, for consistency, to bring this whole debacle full circle. Sucking in a breath, she snapped the steel back into her spine and forced herself to look at him, wishing she could have at least had a whole cup of coffee or a shower – _oh, God, a shower_ – before this happened. Elsie was muttering something at Will in a forceful, desperate whisper, but Will didn’t seem to be registering it – he was flushed, his eyes unfocused, and if he didn’t fucking _say something_ soon, Kate was going to be forced to step up and kiss him in front of God and Oregon and his tiny, terrifying sister. 

 “ _WILL_ ,” Elsie hissed in a charged undertone, “you have to knock it off _now_ ,” but he _couldn’t_ , no matter how vehement his sister was. “ _If you do not stop looking at her like you’re deciding where to kiss her –_ “ “ _Elsie!_ ” – “ _people will notice and **so help me,**_ _we will have to cut off your campaign and run you for school board with all the other mega-perverts._ ” Will’s brain was somehow entirely unable to function but also running at warp speed. _Elsie_ , he realized, _Elsie could see her, too, so that was good, that was… so she was **real** , she was **in Oregon** , she was –_ “Will?” _Her **voice**_ , and that was it. “ _Kate_ ,” he responded, though it wasn’t actually any kind of response. His voice cracked like a teenager’s, sounding torn around the edges. He hoped she didn’t notice.

 _He sounded raw,_ Kate noted with concern, coming down the steps to get a sense of – was he injured? Were there bruises, or any indication that he’d been ill, or… He _did_ know the sky wasn’t really falling, didn’t he? Reaching the sidewalk, she stepped just a _little_ closer and - _he smelled the same_. Kate bit her lip, forcing herself back into the present, out of the headspace where she was seconds away from plastering herself against him and daring Elsie to crowbar them apart. _Oh, shit, Elsie._

Schooling her face into what she hoped was a polite smile, she turned – OK, _barely_ , but still – away from Will to greet his sister. “Hey, Elsie,” she offered. “Good to see you.” Elsie smiled – the kind of smile a shark gives when it _really does_ want to play nice. “Hey, Kate,” Elsie returned, _I am being so patient_ clear in her voice. “Good to see you, too. _Will_ ,” she continued in a tone that brooked no opposition, “has a community meet and greet to get to five minutes ago.” Kate hesitated, not sure what the protocol was for asking if she could attend - by which she meant sit up front and inspect Will to make sure that he was whole and well and as she remembered.

“You can’t come,” Elsie continued, no animus in her tone. “ _ **Elsie**!_ ” Will exclaimed, sounding horrified, eyes frantic. Kate smiled at him reassuringly, then back at Elsie with a shark smile of her own. She was starting to like Will’s sister. Elsie was muttering again, something that sounded a lot like “honestly not sure _what_ I’m going to have to dose him with to make him seem normal after this.” Kate stifled a laugh. Elsie met her eyes, seeming to appreciate that she had an ally, and nodded decisively.

“Good luck,” Kate offered, smiling brilliantly at Will. “I’ll text you tonight, figure out a better time for us to meet up.” Will nodded, looking moderately less shell-shocked. “Going to go try out your ‘not imminent, if not outside the realm of possibility’ speech on a new audience,” he offered, and Kate felt her smile grow, even as her chest ached at the memory. “Armageddon maybe," she murmured. "That one worked out well for me.” “Yeah,” he said, so softly she almost couldn’t hear him. Behind his glasses – _goddamn_ – his eyes were heartbreakingly tender. He bit his lip – _that mouth -_ and she felt her resolve cracking. “Me, too.”  “ _Will_ ,” Elsie snapped, frustration clear. “ _Time to go save Oregon_.” For a long moment, he didn’t look away from Kate. Then he cracked a grin, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah,” he called, turning away, “I've heard that before.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the delay in updating - school has been crazy, and I'm heading into finals week now, so it's going to be a little bit (hopefully not another month, though) between updates again. I haven't forgotten the story - it's just harder to find the time to write it the way I want to. Thanks for sticking with me.

Fifteen minutes later, Kate was sitting on the curb outside Vera’s, finally caffeinated but still reeling. _Will fuckin’ Bailey_ , she thought to herself. _Always where you least expect him._ Frankly, considering that he’d appeared without warning, it was a mercy she hadn’t jumped him in public. Lowering her head to her hands, she groaned softly. She had to meet with the realtor to get her house key, and if she didn’t get it together, she was going to scare the poor woman. “Hmph,” said a voice just over Kate’s shoulder. She startled, nearly falling into a flower bed, before steadying herself and turning to see Vera, propped against the doorframe. “My John gets me like that,” she offered, and Kate had to struggle to keep her jaw from dropping. _Who was this John, god among men?_ “Good boy you got there. Sweet. But you can’t be swooning in my flowers after closing.” Kate tried to stifle a laugh, but didn’t quite succeed. An indulgent smile flashed across Vera’s face; Kate wished she’d been quick enough to snap a photo. “Doors open at seven tomorrow. I’ll be seeing you.” Vera turned and went back inside; Kate, left with no other option, rose unsteadily to her feet, heading back to her car. Day one in Oregon wasn’t even over yet and she already had a regular coffee shop and – at least according to Vera – a proprietary claim to Will Bailey. The sky might be falling, sure, but there were worse situations to be in. 

It wasn’t until Kate got back to her car that she realized her realtor was probably too caught up in satellite panic to let her into the house. Most of the coast was shut down; no one was going into work, and she couldn’t think of any reason for Betty Gustafson to be the exception to that rule. She rested her head against her steering wheel, considering her options. _You could call Will_ , her traitorous brain suggested. _Funny story, can’t get into my rental, any chance I can stay at your place? In your bed? Forever?_ For a moment, she let it play out – phone call vs. text; the moment between her request and his invitation. There was no question that he would say yes, and for a moment, she let herself imagine how it could be. Even in her head, though, she didn’t like the way the fantasy unfolded. Imagining him opening the door, she saw uncertainty in his eyes – how long are you staying? Why are you here? How is this going to work? – and as much as she wanted to believe she could brush those fears away, she knew he’d be right to have them. Beginnings mattered. And, sure, Will was a big part of the end game here, but he wasn’t the entire plan. Kate wanted her cottage – wanted _her_ space to pursue _her_ goals. She didn’t want her first night there to be grudging, either, and she knew that if she was leaving his house – _the_ house – she would be reluctant to go. When she went to Will’s, she wanted it to be the start of something lasting, the beginning of a life together, not some lazy, one-night shelter from the storm gimmick cribbed from the plot of a porno. She wanted him to have proof that she was staying, that she was serious, that she was making a place for herself with room for him. Kate straightened, massaging her temples. If she couldn’t get into her house, she could sleep in her car. Or get a hotel, maybe, although the local options were probably booked. She was mentally outlining plans C-F when her phone rang. _Betty Gustafson (Florence Realtor)_ flashed across the screen. Taking a deep breath, she answered. “Kate,” came the cheerful, businesslike voice on the other end, “I hope you don’t mind if I call you Kate. You can call me Betty, although I know I don’t have a ‘Commander’ on the front end to give up, so. Anyhow. Have you made it into town yet? My sister said she’d had an out-of-towner down at her diner, but I couldn’t be sure it was you.” Betty paused – presumably to draw breath – and Kate seized her opportunity. “Kate’s just fine. No need to be formal. And assuming your sister is Vera, she did see me; I got in about an hour ago. Is there any chance I could swing by and get the keys to the house?” Betty laughed, sweet and musical. “Oh, no need. I was worried you’d get stuck in traffic til late – people are just losing their heads about this whole mess – so I went ahead and put the keys under the mat, left you some clean sheets, that sort of thing. The cleaners were through yesterday, so it’s all dusted and spiffed up.” Kate blew out a breath as her stomach unclenched. “So you go ahead and get settled in,” Betty continued, “and I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around town. You have a good night, now.” There was a firm click on the other end, and Kate sat with her thank you caught between her teeth, picturing Betty chugging on to her next task like a sugar-coated steamroller. Pulling out of the parking lot, she pointed herself in the direction of her cottage, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. She wasn’t going to go to Will tonight – but there was no reason not to text him. Hell, maybe he’d come to her.


	22. Chapter 22

The Laurens were clustered tightly at the back of the high school gym. Elsie edged toward them, slipping through the audience – not a bad crowd, considering – to where they stood. As she got close, she heard Lauren Chin’s voice. “I’m sorry, _Kate Harper_ is _here_?” The question was delivered in a perfectly normal tone. The average listener could be forgiven for taking it as a simple request for confirmation, but the average listener was a fucking fool. Lauren Chin didn’t fangirl – it was a well-established fact. Everyone she met was treated with the same coolly polite disregard. There were a few limited exceptions - when she’d met President Bartlet, she’d been struck mute, but had grinned uncontrollably the entire time (there was an unconfirmed rumor that she’d teared up during their handshake); she didn’t react to CJ Cregg’s presence, but she was _vicious_ to people who treated CJ with anything short of reverence; and she worshipped Merle Haggard. That was it, except for Kate Harper, who for some reason, was exalted above all others, in a category unto herself. Lauren Shelby rolled her eyes. “Elsie and Will saw her at Vera’s,” she reported.

Lauren Romano looked worried; Lauren Chin’s face was a picture of effervescent joy. Elsie cautiously slid past Betty Gustafson, focused on reaching her friends without getting delayed. “You can’t ask her out,” Lauren Shelby sighed, her tone suggesting this wasn’t the first time she’d had to say that. “Of _course_ I can’t ask her out,” Lauren Chin retorted, “I practically built a folk religion around her. That’s a _recipe_ for a fucked up relationship. But how long is she here? Why is she here? Where’s she staying? Does she want a devoted assistant?” Lauren Romano snickered, but Lauren Shelby dug in. “Are you trying to tell me that if _Kate Harper_ walked up to you right here and said, Lauren Lihua Chin, _take me to bed_ _and show me passion,_ you’d _pass_?” Lauren Chin’s eyes narrowed. “OK, _first –“_ Elsie slid into the circle, finally clear of the tangle of would-be constituents. “ _Focus_ ,” she insisted. Lauren Chin jolted, shooting Lauren Shelby a _this isn’t over_ stare. Lauren Romano nodded, ticking off points of order on her fingers. “Why is she here, how long is she staying, what does having her here mean for the campaign, what does it mean for Will. So, what do we have for baseline knowledge?” Anxiety tightened Elsie’s chest; she knew she was probably flushed, eyes a little too bright. She tried to take a deep breath, but frustration was still evident in her tone. “ _Nothing._ No baseline. If Will hadn’t been with me at Vera’s, I might actually know something, but as it is, we’re nowhere on containment and damage control.”

The Laurens’ brows shot up in unison. Lauren Shelby broke the stunned silence first. “ _Damage control?_ Wait, actually, no, sorry – _containment_? What is she, the Spanish flu? _Jesus_ , Elsie, I know the campaign is high-pressure, I know you want to keep everything running smoothly, but that’s not like you.” Elsie felt her flush deepening. A little hollow of shame made itself known in her belly. “I just… She’s awesome, Lauren, stop looking at me like that, but when Will saw her, he was _so happy_ , and what if she’s just - “ “In Florence, Oregon by _chance_? Come _on_ ,” scoffed Lauren Chin. Lauren Romano broke in. “She’s definitely here for him. Like, I get it, I get wanting to know everything, to keep him safe and be strategic for the campaign, but… You’ve see the way she looks at him.” Elsie blinked. “I’ve seen the way _he_ looks at _her,_ ” she said slowly, considering. “But I was focused on him today, and I wasn’t around when they first got together. I’m pretty sure when I was at the White House, she thought he was an intern, or a statue of Harry Potter.” Lauren Romano shook her head, eyes earnest. “You should pay attention, then,” she said quietly. “Will lights up when he looks at her. It’s precious. Commander Harper, though… she’s cautious about good things, but she looks at him like he’s _home_ to her, like he’s what she hopes for.” “It’s, like, _Danny Concannon_ level shit,” Lauren Shelby added sagely. Elsie arched a brow as she processed that. “I… I don’t feel better about this yet,” she admitted, “but that’s definitely getting me closer.” “Well of course you don’t feel better about this yet,” Lauren Chin responded bluntly. “We have to figure out how to let them finish falling in love without tanking his campaign, making him look like a middle schooler, or creating another hotdog incident.” Elsie snickered. She’d almost forgotten the hotdog incident.

At the start of the campaign, they’d worried about being able to attract press attention. Will was an unknown in the Oregon 4th, running for an office that most of the voters didn’t get worked up over. They’d fretted and brainstormed and called ahead, but as it turned out, they shouldn’t have worried. Local TV had been receptive, the Eugene paper had run a profile, and the _Siuslaw News_ , based in Florence and serving western Lane County, had taken coverage to a whole new level. When Will’s picture made the front page the first time, they’d thought it was a coup; when he made it the next week, his face a mask of bliss as he enjoyed a hotdog at the elementary school carnival, they finally realized that they had a local star on their hands. The problem was, as Lauren Romano had pointed out, there were enough teenage boys (and enough Laurens) in the Oregon 4th that, unless they replaced that picture quickly, they were going to get a photoshopped photo series of Will eating dicks. Lauren Romano had arranged an encounter with a goldendoodle on Main Street – the ultimate snapshot distillation of the American dream – and Elsie had delivered it to the editor of the _Siuslaw News_ personally. She’d expected to have to threaten or beg, but instead wound up staring blankly as Janet Lane, the editor in chief, squealed over how cute the photo was, giving it pride of place with no prompting. Lauren Shelby tilted her head, considering. “Honestly… We already know they’re cute together. I think she’s good press. Even if Janet’s raging crush on Will means that every picture of Kate has three chins, couple shots are better than the hotdog, possibly as good as the goldendoodle.” Lauren Chin, ruthlessly pragmatic even on the subject of Kate Harper, considered that. “Nothing’s as good as the goldendoodle,” she said flatly, “Facts’re facts. But it’s still _good_.” Lauren Shelby looked flabbergasted. “I think that’s the most critical you’ve ever been of Kate Harper,” she murmured. Lauren Chin’s eyes flashed. “Don’t fucking push it.” Ignoring their sidebar spat, Lauren Romano chimed in. “Just not too much coverage,” she demurred. “We don’t want the voters to think he’s distracted. It’d be one thing if she’d come here with him to start with, or if they were married or whatever, but…” She trailed off, pensive. Elsie cut that line of thinking off; she wasn’t pushing Will into marriage for anything less than a Senate seat. Not even with Kate Harper.


	23. Chapter 23

The cottage was everything she’d hoped it would be. Kate hauled her bags in, enjoying the space that managed to be both airy and cozy. Her Navy training tugged at her to go unpack, but the couch looked comfortable and inviting, and she had a more pressing goal in mind. Curling into the corner of the sofa, she pulled out her phone, hovering over the keyboard as she tried to decide what to say.

 _Fuck._ Every option felt hackneyed – and should she even text him now? Wasn’t he in the middle of something? Her rational brain pushed back – there was no way in hell Will Bailey would have his phone on during a campaign event. He knew better. That still didn’t help with writer’s block, though. Stretching out, Kate groaned, drafting texts and nixing them immediately. _Phone a friend,_ she decided.

CJ answered on the first ring. “Are you alive? Are you in Oregon?” Kate laughed. “Yeah, I made it. _Actually_ ,” she began, then paused. “Is Danny there?” CJ waited a beat before responding. “… Yeah,” she offered. “Do you want me to pass the phone?” Kate considered. “No, just… can you put me on speaker? I have a story, and now I need advice, and –“ “Hey, Kate,” came Danny’s easy tones.

“… I was already on speaker, wasn’t I?” Kate realized. CJ’s voice, not remotely sorry, echoed through the phone. “Yep. What’s your story?” There was a brief silence when she finished telling them about running into Will. Then CJ broke down into helpless laughter, and Danny, in his most reasonable tone, commented, “Marry Vera. I think that much is obvious.”

“ _Lord,"_  Kate muttered, chuckling despite herself. “All right,” she commanded, “shape up. You’re the co-patron saints of hopeless longing, but you pulled it together somehow. I want what you have without having to go through what you put each other through. Write me a text to that effect, and make it snappy.” “There was a time when you feared me,” CJ responded acidly. The memory of her trademark smoldering stare flitted across Kate's vision. Danny snorted, tempting fate. “Yeah, you, too, Fishboy.” “Maybe if you wore more leather?” he suggested innocently. 

Weighing the humor of letting him continue needling CJ against the risk of CJ taking this opportunity to prove she didn’t need leather to make him beg, Kate decided to intervene. “ _Hey!_ ” she snapped. “Focus.” “Taskmaster,” Danny responded, his smirk audible. There was a muffled grunt that Kate could only assume was the result of CJ jamming her elbow into somewhere vulnerable.

“OK,” came CJ’s voice again, all business with an undercurrent of dark satisfaction. “I’m assuming you don’t _actually_ want to express all of your repressed longing in a text. Right?” Kate sighed. “I just don’t want… everything I’ve tried so far either sounds too casual - like I’m pretending we just chatted a few days ago, like I _haven’t_ been… you know, _wanting_ him for months now – or totally psycho, like I’m going to throw him in the trunk of my car and haul him off to a press-gang Vegas wedding.” CJ laughed softly. “OK, first – please, _please_ take Will Bailey to Vegas and send me pictures. But all right, I get what you’re saying.” Kate sighed, taking a moment to imagine Will gone a little wild in Sin City. _Definitely adding that to the bucket list_ , she decided.

“I feel like… I mean, my big plan was to show up and send him spinning at his fundraiser. And don’t get me wrong, I was all on board for it, but I feel like this might be better – fairer, anyway, than forcing him to be in campaign mode for the first time we see each other. I – he didn’t _seem_ mad today, when he saw me.” She paused, a secret little smile curving her lips. “Not at all. But I want him to have the _chance_ to be mad. To push back and ask what I’m doing here. I feel like everything I suggest – coffee, dinner, drinks – has expectations attached to it that I really don’t give a shit about. I’ll go wherever he wants to have this conversation. I just… I just want to see him. I want him to know that I’m here. That I’m in.” Her voice broke a little on the last part, and Kate forced herself to breathe past the tightness in her throat. Danny’s voice was rough with understanding when he responded. “So tell him that, Kate.” He paused, and she heard CJ murmur something indiscernible, gentle in the background. “Just say that.”


	24. Chapter 24

Will shook John Hirsch’s hand firmly, adding wait times at the VA hospital to his mental list of issues to look into. The gym was emptying out. As the last stragglers joined the steady trickle of people heading out the door, he blew out a sigh of relief and reached for his phone. He’d turned it off at the beginning of the event, knowing that if he didn’t, he’d be too focused on it – had it vibrated? was it Kate? why hadn’t it buzzed yet? – to talk to constituents. He hadn’t managed to put it from his mind entirely – his palms had itched through every handshake – but he’d done all right. Will held his breath as the screen lit up, biting back a triumphant shout when his messages icon showed an unread text. Hands shaking, he tapped it.

**_KH_ : _When can I see you?_**

_Straight to the point_. Will felt like he’d been struck by lightning. Apparently, his emotions were plain on his face, because when he looked up from his phone, the Laurens were circling like sharks while Elsie, resting her chin on his shoulder, read Kate’s text. “ _Hey!_ ” he snapped. “That’s – this is _personal_! Not for you to see!” He could just _feel_ Elsie rolling her eyes. “Oh, come on, Will. You’re a dork, not a horny fourteen year old, and Kate is _way_ too controlled to be sending naughty selfies.” Will yelped, horrified. “Not… not _that_ kind of personal! Jesus! Intimate!” Lauren Shelby snorted. “I mean, not _intimate_ , _private!_ ” He paused. That wasn’t actually better. “No! The word I wanted _was_ personal!” Defeated, he sighed. “I want a new campaign staff. And a new sister.” “Tough,” Elsie retorted, barely bothering to acknowledge his whining. “What are you going to say?” Will passed his phone to the Laurens, figuring that if his private life was going to be public property, he may as well reap the benefits of having independent consultants. “ _Don’t_ text her back,” he warned. Lauren Romano sighed with obvious disappointment. “I guess… coffee? At Vera’s?” he offered. “ _No_ ,” Elsie immediately replied. Lauren Shelby looked at him with an _oh, you poor, simple child_ expression _._ Taking pity on him, Lauren Romano explained. “You don’t want an audience for this, Will.” Seeking confirmation, Will looked to Lauren Chin, who shrugged. “I mean, I was going to say go for it,” she drawled, “but only because Vera loves me and would _totally_ have let me hide in the kitchen to spy.” Will’s eyebrows flew up. “I’m sorry – Vera _loves_ you? _How did you do that_?” “One woman at a time, Will,” Lauren smirked. “But to put it simply – game recognizes game.” Will sighed. He had no game. He was doomed. “OK, fine, yeah. I don’t want anybody gawking at me while I gawk at Kate. But… do I invite her to my house? Because that seems…” Lauren Shelby shook her head. “Yeah, I don’t think… Not yet.” Elsie, still leaning on his shoulder, sighed and snagged his phone from Lauren Chin, staring at Kate’s text like it would provide an answer. A little desperate, Will considered his options. “So, not my house and not Vera’s, and it’s too cold to ask her to come sit in a park – _and_ that’s still too public – and every damn place is closed because of a bullshit crisis, and –“ “No, wait, that’s _it,_ ” Lauren Romano interjected. “That’s _it._ Everywhere’s closed – or you’d think so if you were new in town, but you know better. Ask where she’s staying, order at Shanghai Famous, because Mrs. Zhang doesn’t close until the apocalypse asks her nicely, and bring her dinner. Be a hero in private.” “Holy shit, I love you,” Will breathed. “You’re brilliant. Everyone else is fired.” Grabbing his phone back from Elsie, he responded.

**_WB: Tonight? I can bring dinner, if you’re up for it._ **

Will waited, heart in his throat. For a long moment, there was no reply; just when he was about to put his phone in his pocket, though, the gray text bubbles appeared.

**_KH: Sounds perfect. Is 7:00 OK?_ **

It would have been dignified to pause, to pretend he wasn’t hunched over his phone like a lovesick teenager, but he didn’t give a shit. _She’d said yes._

**_WB: Definitely. Where are you staying?_ **

When she responded with an address, rather than a hotel, Will lost his breath, caught somewhere between faint hope and looming uncertainty. He looked up, hoping his expression was reasonably controlled. “Do I ask if she’s staying with somebody?” he asked, hating how small his voice sounded. “No,” Lauren Chin answered firmly. “You bring a shit ton of food and your game face.” Will nodded, willing himself to be optimistic. _She texted you,_ he reminded himself. “ _Will_ ,” Lauren Romano murmured, “She wants to see you. Chin up.” Will nodded. “She’s in _Florence fucking Oregon_ ,” Lauren Chin added, her gentle tone somehow not at odds with the profanity. “That’s not a goddamn accident.”


	25. Chapter 25

When Will called Shanghai Famous just to make _sure_ they were still open, Maddie, Mrs. Zhang’s granddaughter, answered the phone, teasingly threatening to tell her grandmother that he’d lost his faith in her. Maddie didn’t ask any questions when he ordered enough food for a small army, or when he dithered about whether he needed more than two forks; Will sent up a silent prayer of thanks for her easy emotional intelligence. Maddie was sixteen, all fire –the lead scorer for the high school soccer team, and the presumptive choice for next year’s senior class president. Jay, her fourteen year-old brother, was a study in contradictions – he was a tangle of gawky awkwardness and heedless grace; his twin passions were poetry and baseball. They were their grandmother’s most profound source of joy and worry; the dining room of Shanghai Famous was decorated with their baby pictures, school photos, and awards, with an anxious space by the family shrine already cleared for Maddie’s college acceptance letters.

Mrs. Zhang’s parents had fled the Chinese civil war shortly after her birth, moving to the relative safety of French-controlled Saigon. She grew up there, passing her girlhood in Saigon’s Cholon District. She watched her father bury her mother two thousand miles away from home, married the wisecracking son of a doctor, kept her father’s name. Barely two years after she married her husband, Vietnam was engulfed in war. Her husband was an American-trained South Vietnamese pilot; when Saigon fell, an airman from Roseburg sponsored their entry to the United States, and so here they were. Always savvy and ambitious, she’d started a restaurant, decided to avoid stamping their connection to Vietnam on the sign. When Cathy Grant, her daughter’s best friend, nine years old with dandelion fluff hair, had pinned her with wide bluebell eyes and asked if she missed Shanghai, she’d pursed her lips as if considering before shaking her head. From the corner of her eye, she’d seen her daughter’s narrow shoulders sag with relief. “Oregon is better,” she’d responded decisively, with all the confidence required to lie to children, all the determination necessary to will that lie into truth. That had been that. _You didn’t tell her?_ Jay and Maddie had asked when she told them the story, laughing at the memory as she peeled the lychees you could find in Oregon grocery stores now, if you knew where to look. She’d pursed her lips again, given them the same shake of the head. She might have missed Shanghai, if she’d ever been there. Saigon, of course, was a different ache – a missing limb, a lost life. Saigon had fallen, though, and she had flown, and if there was no passionfruit in Oregon, no street vendors hawking banh mi, scarce sunshine, that was still all right. Oregon was steady, slate-gray and stable, roots grown through rock on the edge of the sea. Oregon survived, and so did she.

She’d gone back to Saigon in 2005, the year after her husband died. She’d stood on the narrow street she’d grown up on, loss compounding loss. Her daughter had held her arm, Oregon steady, as she wept for everyone she couldn’t bring back, cities and family and friends, for all of the lost possibilities. 

Will loved Mrs. Zhang, who, perhaps for obvious reasons, was one of the few people in Florence who had never treated him like an outsider simply because he hadn’t grown up in town. Moreover, as great as Vera’s Diner was, Vera closed at 3:00 sharp. Mrs. Zhang kept the kitchen open until 9:00, and had gotten in the habit of having Maddie text Lauren Romano to let the campaign know when the day’s specials were truly too good to miss. Walking back to his car in the brisk evening air, loaded down with takeout and anticipation, he found himself smiling at the ease of it all – the sense of belonging that had started to set in. He gave himself a moment to indulge in hope – Kate had an _address_ here, which might mean she was crashing with someone – Will’s jaw tensed - but _might_ mean she was staying. _With him,_ he continued, acknowledging the most important part of the wish, because he couldn’t think of any other reason for her to be here, and God help him, he’d tried every scenario he could imagine. Resting his head against the steering wheel, he blew out a breath. _Game face,_ he reminded himself, playing Lauren Chin’s advice back. _Game face and takeout._ His heart was pounding, but he was outwardly composed. He typed her address into his GPS, turned the key in his ignition, and pulled out toward Heceta Beach as dusk draped itself over the coastline. A little thrill of adrenaline shot up his spine. _Your move, Harper._


	26. Chapter 26

By 6:45, Kate was pacing. She couldn’t help it. They’d finalized their plans around 5:30, which had left her feeling like she had no time at all to get ready. She’d showered, shaved, dried her hair, and put on makeup with the relentless intensity that she usually associated with life-or-death situations, only to realize as she triumphantly finished her eyeliner that she had nearly an hour left. She’d considered going out to buy wine before realizing that she had no idea what he was bringing for dinner – and on top of that, if there was a liquor store in Florence, it was probably closed. Seemed like a missed opportunity for a liquor store, really – no better time for a drink than the apocalypse – but hey, the world wasn’t _actually_ ending, and maybe it would be better to have this conversation without having booze to lean on. Maybe. Frustrated, she’d finished unpacking. She made and remade her bed, stalwartly pretending that this was all purely for herself, that Will coming over had _no bearing whatsoever_ on how inviting she wanted her bed to look.

Entirely at loose ends, she’d tried sitting calmly on the couch, recalling the scenes in _Pride and Prejudice_ when the Bennet girls posed themselves in their drawing rooms, a hastily assembled tableau of peaceful domesticity for the benefit of the visitors walking in. Kate’s attempt at feigning composed stillness lasted from 6:37 to 6:39. Restive, she checked the news, checked her email, checked her texts. _Maybe I should get a Twitter_ , she thought desperately, but the prospect of choosing a handle now – what if someone already had @kateharper? – was just too much. Finally, she gave up on controlling her nerves, just hoping he’d arrive before she wore permanent tracks in her floor. At 6:50 – bless him and his tendency to be early – she heard a car pulling into her driveway. When she didn’t immediately hear a car door opening, she practically growled. It would be so _Will_ of him to be early but bashful, to wait politely in the car until precisely 7:00. It was adorable, but also – _fuck that._ If love was a waiting game, they’d waited long enough, and takeout was time sensitive. Kate flipped on her porch light, shook out her hair, and opened the door, an expectant smile on her face.

She pulled up short when she realized that the driver getting out of the car in her driveway was _not_ Will. The woman who stepped forward was short, silver-haired, and generously rounded – the archetypal grandmother - beaming, and holding out what appeared to be a pie. “I’m Betty Gustafson,” she supplied cheerfully, shaking the hand Kate hadn’t realized she’d offered. Just then, Will pulled his car in. For a moment, Kate froze – she hadn’t even thought about what small-town gossip could do to his campaign, hadn’t figured out a strategy to make sure she was an asset, not a detriment to him. _Shit._ She should have scheduled a strategy meeting with Elsie or something, but it was too goddamn late for that now. Over Betty’s shoulder, she saw Will take in the scene, watched a rueful grin spread over his face. He straightened his tie, shaking his head, and Kate felt heat pool in her belly. She tried and failed to turn her attention back to Betty as Will got out of his car carrying an improbably large paper bag. She managed to drag her eyes back to Betty’s face just as Will reached them. Betty unceremoniously plopped the pie into Kate’s hands, eyes tracking between Kate and Will with the predatory gleam of an apex gossip with a scoop.

“ _He_ ’s running for Congress,” Betty began, rolling right over Will’s affable, “Evening, Betty.” Kate’s chest tightened. “That’s right,” Will said easily, a charming smile on his face. Kate must have looked like she was going to throw a punch, because she felt Will’s hand settle on her back. She fought to keep her knees from buckling. “And _you’re…_ writing a book, you said?” Kate barely held back a snort. Betty was _not_ subtle. Will’s hand squeezed her hip, and she sneaked a glance at him, allowing herself to appreciate the look of barely-leashed excitement on his face. She smiled at Betty, hoping her expression was anywhere near as welcoming as Will’s. “I am,” she confirmed, pleased with how steady her voice sounded. “… About him?” Betty pushed, and Kate bit back a snicker. “No,” she corrected. “About Kazakhstan, mostly. Some other places. About international conflict in general, I guess, and how to address it.” She’d expected Betty to look disappointed, but she nodded like she was impressed, clearly filing the information away. Kate glanced down at the pie in her hands. _Maybe she could like Betty after all_ , she mused, but Betty wasn’t done. “So, _this_ is… what, satellite fever?” she prodded, gesturing expressively at the two of them. Kate choked, and felt Will’s hand tighten on her hip again. “Ah, _no_ , this is –“ Will began, but Kate couldn’t hold back. “ _Satellite fever_?” she repeated incredulously, and Betty had the grace to laugh. “What would you call it?” she challenged impishly. “Everyone getting all keyed up over a little space junk. 20 years at Boeing – _in aerospace technologies! -_ and I never saw _anyone_ this interested in ‘em. I think people are just looking for an excuse for hysterics and grand gestures.” Kate wanted to ask Betty about her 20 years in the aerospace industry, but then Will’s thumb swept her spine in a lazy caress and she just wanted to yank him inside and have him to herself. She tuned back in to realize that Will was responding to Betty, his mouth quirked up in a boyish smile. “No need to use the satellite as an excuse this time,” he said gently, and Kate thought back to their satellite-inspired first date, warmth spreading through her chest. “I’ve just been missing her.”


	27. Chapter 27

Will’s breath stuck in his throat, fluttering like a trapped bird. He hadn’t meant to say that – hadn’t known _what_ to say, because “she’s an old friend” was the kind of razor-edged untruth where saying it might make it so, and “I’m in love with her” wasn’t the sort of thing that he wanted to say to Betty Gustafson before he said it to Kate. It was supposed to be _Kate’s move,_ dammit, but nobody could have predicted Betty showing up, throwing pies and innuendo into the mix. He and Kate waited in silence as Betty pulled out of Kate’s driveway, standing stock still as her taillights receded into the deepening darkness. His hand was still on her back, and the steadily stiffening silence made him feel like he should drop it, but it would be weird at this point. More than that, though, he didn’t _want_ to. “So,” he said, hoping his uncertainty wasn’t obvious, “a book, huh?” Suddenly, Kate turned in his arms, eyes a little wild, pulling him into a brief, crushing hug. Betty’s pie pan was pressing into his ribs hard enough to bruise, and the takeout bag made it close to impossible to hug her back the way he wanted to, but as he relaxed into the familiar scent of her shampoo, he could finally breathe again.                                                     

There were too many words milling at the base of her throat, and none of them were the right ones. She’d meant to break the silence as Betty pulled away, but Will’s answer to Betty’s satellite quip had crowded every suitable conversation starter out of her head. _I’ve just been missing her._ It was the perfect answer to an impossible question, but it could also mean absolutely _anything._ Sure, he’d chivalrously made it sound like _he_ was the one pursuing _her –_ but did he actually fucking _think_ that? Hadn’t she made this obvious? Or was he just trying to avoid saying they were together? _Were they together? Could they at least not be apart?_ When Will’s voice interrupted her reverie, hesitant in the way that meant she wasn’t the only one trying to figure things out, the paralyzing uncertainty broke. This was _Will_ , holding her in the dark, remembering the important things, taking nothing for granted. _This was Will._ Before Kate could process what she was doing, she was holding him like she’d wanted to on the steps of Vera’s diner. _Shoving a pie pan through his ribcage_ , she noted wryly, but she took the _thud_ of the takeout bag against her back as his arms came around he as a hint that he didn’t mind. She stepped back just enough to be able to see his face. His eyes were dark and hopeful in the light from her porch. “I… I wanted to tell you that before I told Betty Gustafson,” she said ruefully, trying to keep her smile steady. “And I – _shit_ , Will, I’m sorry she was here. I had no idea… I wanted to tell you that _I’m_ _here_ before we had the conversation about what it would mean for your campaign, but she pulled up and I thought it was you and –“ Kate broke off, looking miserable. Will would never have imagined that the expression of shattered uncertainty on Kate’s face would leave him feeling _hopeful_ , but if she was saying what he _thought_ she was saying –

The silence was interminable. Ordinarily, Kate could wait out an awkward pause with a professional gambler's cool diffidence, but the stakes were too high here, and she couldn’t get a read on Will’s expression. Did he not get what she was saying? Did she have to finish that sentence? Start a new one? Open a vein? Really, that would be the simplest approach – a little good old-fashioned bloodletting – but under the circumstances… “ _Here I am_ ,” she offered weakly, and Will let out a laugh that was more than half sob, leaning in to rest his forehead against hers. “For how long?” he asked, and Kate tried not to let the question sting. “My lease is for… well, basically the run of the campaign,” she offered, hoping he’d be happy to hear it, hoping he’d understand what she was offering, what she was asking for. She felt the stroke of his thumb against her jawbone as his hand came up to frame her face. Clenching Betty’s pie plate with white-knuckled fists, Kate waited for him to respond. “… Will?” she asked, voice small in the stillness, and then suddenly she felt the firm, familiar pressure of his lips on hers. The kiss was sweet and hopeful and everything she’d missed since she left his boxed-up apartment. Caught in the sensation of him, she deepened the kiss, pressing closer until the bite of Betty’s pie pan between them brought her back to herself. Laughing helplessly, she buried her face in his shoulder. _Kissing the candidate in the goddamn driveway, Harper,_ she chided herself. _Elsie would have kittens._

Catching his hand, Kate tugged him toward the front door. “Come inside,” she invited, the sheen of laughter still overlaying her voice. “I’ll give you the tour.” Will grinned, his smile hitting her like lightning. As he swung the bag of food into his arms with a muffled _oof,_ she dissolved into laughter again, leaning against the door as the tension of the evening melted into easy familiarity. Will’s smile was bashful and boyish, even as he crowded her against the door to kiss her again. Kate reached behind her and turned the knob, nipping at his bottom lip as she pulled him into the house. He moved in for another kiss as she closed the door behind them, but she held him back with a hand against his chest, raising a brow at the massive bag of food. He shrugged, his eyes a suddenly little bleak behind lightly fogged glasses. “I wasn’t sure if you were staying with someone,” he said quietly, twining the ends of her hair around his fingers as if to ground himself. It took her a minute to realize what that had meant to him – the possibility that she was here _with_ someone else, or in Florence _for_ someone else. His decision to come anyway, and to feed whoever she’d put between them. Kate’s heart thumped painfully. Taking the takeout bag from him, she set it on the table and closed the distance between them, waiting for his eyes to settle on hers before she spoke. “Will, I…” He waited, always so patient, tentatively reaching to toy with her hair again. “Just you?” he offered kindly, tone deceptively light, giving her an out even as she struggled to find the words. It was that kindness that spurred her to speak – to give him the answer he deserved, the answer she’d told CJ and Danny she was ready to give him. “Just _you_ ,” she corrected, voice tight. “I’m in Oregon because of _you_ , Will. I’m here for dinner with _you –_ or breakfast or lunch or whatever the hell you have in that bag. Here to switch identical entrees at as many rotary club dinners as Elsie will let me attend.” She felt Will shudder against her, watched something deeper than relief cross his face. “And to write a book,” he added softly, pride clear in his tone. “And to write a book,” she agreed. Will exhaled, and she reached up to loosen his tie, flicking open the top button of his shirt and pressing a kiss to the exposed triangle of skin at his throat. His breath caught, and her lips quirked. “Tell me there are dumplings,” she demanded, heading for the table. Will blew out a breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Oh, you don’t even know,” he began, steadying himself. “You’re going to _love_ Mrs. Zhang.” Walking over to join her, he felt things settling into place. _Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She was here for him._


End file.
